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THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

MAY 31 1901 

Copyright entry 

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CLASS C^^XXc. N». 

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COPY B. ^ 

TO 

MY KINDEST “PUBLIC*' 

AND 

MY KEENEST CRITIC ‘ 

MY HUSBAND. ‘ 


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A POPULAR IDOL 


CHAPTEE I. 

A CALL EXTENDED. 

At last the Eoehester Avenue Church had called 
a pastor. People always said ^^at last’’ when they 
mentioned the fact. Of course, all had known that 
it would not be easy to find a successor for Dr. Whar- 
tonbury. The Doctor had served as pastor of the 
church on Eochester Avenue for thirty years, and had 
seemed as much a fixture as the organ or the towere 
A gracious, genial old man he had been, handsome of 
face, and, at seventy, as erect of bearing as a young 
lieutenant. K^o man in the city had been more gener- 
ally liked. 'No one could read the service more im- 
pressively at a wedding, or tell a better story at the 
\vedding breakfast. To those in sorrow or poverty 
he was kindness itself, and stories of his unselfish 
ministries to such Avere treasured in many a home. 

am related to half the city by Avay of funerals and 
Aveddings,” he had been Avont to say, in speaking of 
his long term of service; and indeed he had not been 
far from right. 


5 


G 


A POPULAK IDOL. 


All had felt it to be a public calamity when, one 
Sunday evening, after having preached with his accus- 
tomed vigor, the fine old man fell in the pulpit at the 
close of the last hymn, a victim of apoplexy. The 
whole city joined in doing honor to his memory, and 
the members of the church on Eochesfer Avenue 
mourned as for a father. 

That was nearly two years ago. A number of 
candidates had filled the pulpit with more or less 
acceptance'. Many others had comie with bounding 
hopes and departed without having made the city 
aware of their presence. None had satisfied all the 
members of the Ofiicial Board, and none had met with 
pronounced popular favor, until David Cole appeared. 

David was twenty-six, and had been educated at 
a small church college in one of the Central States. 
He knew little of city life and nothing whatever of 
the activities of a large city church. Indeed, it may 
be said by way of parenthesis that he did not come 
to the Eochester Avenue Church as a candidate, but 
was merely laid hold upon in an extremity by Judge 
Lansing — a member of the Committee on Pulpit 
Supply — at the home of a college friend whom Davi«l 
chanced to be visiting. 

Perhaps the fact that he was not a candidate and 
so had no occasion for embarrassment may have been 
accountable in part for the good sermons he preached. 


A CALX. EXTENDED. 


7 


He was not conceited, and the thought that his chance 
presence might lead to a desirable opening did not 
once occur to him. He preached the two sermons 
which he had preached the Sunday previous in his 
own. little village church, and, being an orator bom, 
he -firdd before the large audience and spoke with 
uniusuaH power. He was a singularly handsome 
fellow, with that illusive charm of countenance which 
is largely dependent upon occasion. The glow of 
enthusiasm seemed to be ever kindling and dying in 
his face. How it was the enthusiasm of vision, now 
of eloquence, now of contact, as mood followed mood, 
and he wus absorbed by the thought, the utterance and 
the reception of the thought, in turn. ^^He seemed 
speaking to me and to no one else,” was the most 
frequent comment upon his preaching. 

Mrs. Venett sang ^^Angels Ever Bright and Fair” 
for the evening offertory. David Cole had never 
heard many good singers. Certainly he had never 
before heard one like Octavia Yenett. He was deeply 
moved, and said so at the beginning of his sermon. 
This was unusual and unconventional, but the people 
liked it none the less for its unexpectedness. The 
very artlessness of the young man pleased them. 

shall probably never worship with you again,” 
he said, ^^but I can not believe that the influence of 
this hour is ever to be lost. I am sure wo shall all 


8 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


be the better for the inspiration of this exquisite song 
until the hour when ^angels ever bright and fair’ shall 
coxne for yo-u and me.” 

Who had ever seen Mrs. Venett so stirred before ? 
It was often said that the beautiful soprano had no 
personal vanity. She se.emed to be conscious of noth- 
ing, when she sang, save the art of which she was 
the splendid incarnation. It was certainly not her 
vanity which was touched to-night. Yet a spot of 
crimson burned in either cheek, the long, dark lashes 
veiled her brilliant eyes, and her daintily gloved hands 
trembled, as she nervously turned the leaves of the 
book ufron her lap. 

is a man you can not be unconscious of,” 
she said mysteriously next day. ^^One has to know 
that he feels and feel that he knows.” 

What Mrs. Yenett thought meant much in the 
Eochester Avenue Church. Though not a member 
herself, no officer in it Avas more readily listened to 
concerning church affiairs. She Avas a AvidoAv, had 
been a Avidow since she was tAventy, Avhich must have 
been at least ten years. She had sung in opera, but 
her voice Avas not large enough for a brilliant success 
there, and she had returned to the realm of church 
and concert singing, where she was queen. She lived 
with her parents, Avho had money enough to gratify 
her rather expensive tastes, and she was, ‘ in her own 


A CALL EXTENDED. 


9 


independent fashion, a social leader. The Music 
Committee of the Kochester Avenue Church counted 
themselves fortunate in being able to retain her ser- 
vices for year after year, when she might, in some 
Eastern city, have commanded double the salary which 
she was paid here. But she liked to live at home, 
she said ; and, in truth, she liked the freedom accorded 
to her at Kochester Avenue. 

The other members of the church quartette liked 
her and paid tribute to her gifts. But old Karl 
Keiberger, who had been the church organist for 
twenty years, was wont to wrinkle Ms dark broKv, 
shake his shaggy locks, and mutter, doubtfully, ^^Mad- 
am Venett, she seeng like an angel, put she haf a 
terrible vill !’’ And perhaps Karl was not far 
wrong. 

There were others besides Mrs. Yenett who were 
unusually moved by David Cole’s preaching. Judge 
Lansing’s eyes were misty when the evening sermon 
was done. feel that I should like to be a boy again, 
and try life over,” he told the young preacher at the 
close of the servica David, witb all of a young man’s 
admiration for an older man who has succeeded, pro- 
tested eagerly, don’t see why you should say that 
— ^you, who have conquered life at every turn !” And 
the Judge, seeing the sincerity of the young man’s 
admiration, did not like him the less because of it. 


10 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


Mrs. Van Dole was enthusiastic, also. Mrs. Van 
Dole’s enthusiasms wore of no common sort. She 
had boon enraptured with theosophy six months ago, 
and a little further back she had shone as a bright 
particular star among the Christian Scientists. But 
slio always came back to Eochestor Avenue between 
whiles, and she had been heard to remark that she 
admired Dr. Whartonbury next to St. Augustine. It 
was fortunate when, as now, there was something at 
the staid old church upon which she could expend her 
surplus emotion. 

On Monday David was invited to dinner at Judge 
Lansing’s, and sat beside the Judge’s daughter. Tie 
had never before dined at a really elegant table, and 
at first the glitter of china and cut glass bewildered 
him a little. Perhaps he was still more bewildered by 
the inquiring glance of Louise Lansing’s calm gray 
eyes, as she now and then turned them upon him. 
^‘She is classifying me,” he said to himself. ^^She 
is about to set me down as belonging to a new species, 
not at all worth cultivating.” 

But, after all, he was too sincere and too free from 
conceit to be long conscious of himself, and presently 
he was quite at his ease. Louise Lansing, tall, slight 
and graceful, with delicately cut features and the calm 
gray eyes which had in them, besides their look of 
interrogation, both intelligence and sincerity, was a 


A CALL EXTENDED. 


11 


woman to in&pire any man to liis best; and the Judge 
was by all odds the best dinner-table talkeT in the 
city. Mrs. Lansing, a small, shriveled, much-dressed 
lady, was of course at the table, but David judged that 
she did not count. We often make such mistakes in 
our social stock-taking. Mrs. Lansing did indeed 
count for a great deal, and was a prominent factor in 
the affairs of the family, although few persons ever 
found it out 

After dinner, at her father’s suggestion. Miss 
Lansing played the violin. She played remarkably 
well, and she looked like a picture. David contrasted 
the slender figure in its soft light. gown, the witchery 
of grace in every motion, with his memory of Millie 
Doyle, the acknowledged beauty of his church at home 
— Millie, rosy, pronounced, loud-voiced and self-con- 
scious — and sighed to think what the tutelage of that 
rigid teacher known as Society will do for woman- 
kind. 

trust we may see you in our home again,” the 
Judge said, cordially, at parting. 

wish I could believe anything so delightful 
could be in store for me,” David assured him, grate- 
fully. ^^It does not seem at all likely. But at least 
1 shall renew often my memory of this visit, and of 
your kindness to me. Thank you. Judge, and good- 


12 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


The Judge turned slowly away from the door and 
came back into the parlor. ^^What do you say?^’ he 
asked his wife and daughter. ^^Will he dof’ 

^JJe is very handsomei^’’ Mrs. Lanising said, in 
a judiciah tone. 

^Jle doesn’t know things/’ was Misis Lansing’s 
comment. suppose he has never been, anywhera 
I ’m not sure he wwld even know when a dress suit 
is corrects But he is one of the kind who is sure to 
find out. He will learn everything very quickly. T 
should call him very observing, only that I ’m not sure 
it ’s observation. ’ It seems more like intuition. And 
he has a very nice way of saying things.” Her face 
suddenly ‘flushed a little, as she remembered the tone 
in which he had praised her playing. She was used 
to praise, but certainly to none so unconventional, 
perhaps to none so sincere. 

^^He is certainly extraordinarily handsome,” 
repeated Mrs. Lansing. And her air was that of a 
judge in rendering his decision. 

The following evening there was a meeting of the 
Official Board of the church. The matter of calling 
a pastor came up at the usual time and in the usual 
way. Judge Lansing, who was chairman of the special 
committee, was asked if he had any report to make. 

have no formal report to make,” he said. 
/^But” — and he glanced curiously over the faces — ^ffias 


A CALI. EXTENDED. 


13 


anything occurred to any of you gentlemen Siince our 
last meeting?’’ 

^^Something has occurred to me,” said Mr. Herberc 
Ayers, quickly and quietly. Mr. Ayers was a banker, 
the chairman of the Finance Committee, and by far 
the richest man in the church. 

^^As Mr. Ayers is a meanber of our committee,” 
said the Judge, ^^and as we have had no opportunity 
for a conference, I shall be glad if he will state what 
is in his mind.” 

think the same thing is in the mind of each 
of us,” Mr. Ayers said. think we should call the 
young man who preached for us on Sunday. There 
are a few persons in the world who have the touch of 
success, and unless I am worse mistaken in him than 
I have ever yet been in a man, he is one of them. I 
think we shall miss an opportunity if we do not secure 
him at once.” 

Mr. Ayers was a man of few words, and of almost 
unerring judgment in matters of business. This 
decided expression from him meant much, and the 
others were greatly impressed by it. Judge Lansing 
took up the matter where his brother officer had laid 
it down. 

^^Mr. Cole is young and inexperienced,” he said, 
^ffiut these are faults which time will cure only too 
rapidly. I suppose he would be puzzled at first by 


14 


A POPUT.AR IDOL. 


the duties of a large city church, but we have a com- 
petent Board of officers with whom he could advise, 
and he seems uncommonly quick at picking up things. 
He might be at a disadvantage just at first, but it 
strikes me that he would soon be master of the situa- 
tion. He is n’t, I dare say, an extraordinary scholar, 
but he has the appearance and apparently the instincts 
of culture, and I have never been able to see just why 
that doesn’t answer the purposa A few more or 
fewer of the letters of the alphabet after the name 
may count with some men, but I ’m not fastidious 
about that matter, myself.” 

^^He is unmarried, I suppose?” queried Mr. Van 
Dole, deferentially. Perhaps the habit of deference 
had grown upon him through his veneration for Mrs. 
Van Dole’s theosophy. 

^^Evidently,” said the Judge, smiling. ^^Let us hope 
that he intends to remain so, at least until he adjusts 
himself to his new surroundings. I fervently hope 
that there is n’t an impossible Mrs. Cole in the 
perspective. That might complicate matters seri- 
ously.” 

The others nodded, but they did not seem to take 
the suggestion to heart. ^^What about the salary?” 
Mr. Ayers thought to inquire. 

^^We paid Dr. V/hartonbury four thousand a year,” 
said Judge Lansing, reflectively. suppose an un- 


A CALL EXTENDED. 


15 


married man would not expect anything like that 
amount, especially as he comes from a small 
church.’’ 

suggest that we make it twenty-five hundred 
dollars, to begin with,” said Mr. Ayers. 

think he might manage on that,” agreed the 
Judge. ^^There will be some social demands upon 
him, of course, but nothing like so many as if 
he were at the head of an establishment. Yes, I 
think he ought to manage on twenty-five hundred 
dollars.” 

There seemed to be but one opinion on the subject, 
and the outcome of the meeting was that a formal 
call was extended to David Cole to become pastor of 
the church on Rochester Avenue, at a salary of twenty- 
five hundred dollars per year. 

The members of the choir discussed the matter at 
their rehearsal on Saturday morning. ^Tt was quite 
inevitable,” Mrs. Venett said. ^Alr. Cole captured 
everything. He was certainly born with a star over- 
head. I have known a few singers with the same gift 
of personality that he has, but never before a preacher, 
lie is a man destined to have a history. If he were 
a tenor, I should say that he would sing the world 
into madness and then marry a servant girl who spelled 
‘cow’ with a ^k.’ As he is a preacher, it is quite impos- 
sible to make predictions.” 


16 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


moost pe quite leetle experienced,” ventured 
old Karl Keiberger, shaking his locks. ^^He is so 
fery young !” 

^^What difference does that make?” Mrs. Yenett 
flashed out. She was devotedly fond of the old or- 
ganist, but she tyrannized over him terribly. ^^It will 
be all the better. A boy preacher, a child pianist, a 
baby elephant — are not these always prime attractions ? 
Ah, well, we shall see what we shall seel” 


OHAPTEK II. 


THE CALL ACCEPTED. 

David Cole, having gone back on Tuesday to the 
inland village where he preached, was on Thursday 
returning from a round of pastoral calls by way of 
the post-office. The afternoon’s experiences had not 
been altogether pleasant. Mrs. Lukens, a thriftless 
creature recently aided by the church to the extent of 
a calico dress and two gingham aprons, had worn the 
dress to rags without washing it, and had stuffed the 
aprons into the holes in her window-panes to keep 
out the wind. 

^^Seems just as if that woman had had the saleratus 
left out of her,” was Mrs. Doyle’s despairing comment. 
^AVe keep trying and trying to raise her, but she just 
won’t raise.” 

The homely figure stayed in David’s mind as he 
walked down the main street of the village, between 
rows of frame stores and offices. Poverty and dis- 
couragement that come from' outward circumstances 
are not, after all, so hard to reach ; but what of them 
when tliey are due to mental conditions perhaps in- 
herited from generations of thriftless ancestors ? He 
did not know what to do, and yet he had not an idea 


18 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


of leaving the problem unsolved. Being very young, 
he was exceedingly hopeful of bettering the world, 
and exceedingly intolerant of delay in the accomplish- 
ment of that end. We grow less sanguine and more 
patient under the discipline of years. 

He had really been encouraged about Mrs. Lukens. 
She had sent her boy to Sunday-school twice, and had 
promised to attend church herself when the warm 
weather should come. It was very disheartening to 
have her show such base ingratitude, and he could not 
blame good Mrs. Doyle for losing hope. 

This was not his only worry. Millie Doyle and 
Adeline Jackson had had a falling out, and he had 
been plainly made to understand that Millie would not 
go on singing in church with a girl who persistently 
sang through her nose, and knew no more about music 
than a young turkey. Mrs. Doyle did indeed apologize 
for Millie, and express regret that her daughter was 
so particular. But, after all, she queried, what would 
you expect ? If you gave your daughter musical 
advantages, she could n’t help learning whether or not 
other people had had them. To be sure, the Jacksons 
wasn’t able to give Adeline advantages, but was that 
Millie’s fault? She didn’t stand up for Millie in 
it — not a mite! — ^but it was true that Millie had said 
she would n’t go on sitting beside a girl who did n’t 
know the difference between moderate and piano^forty, 


THE CALL ACCEPTED. 


19 


and who sang as if she had a clothes-pin on her 
nose. 

This was a situation, for both the Doyles and the 
Jacksons were active in the church, and a rupture 
between them would mean a division and a ^dining up’’ 
of the entire church on opposing sides. The Doyles 
had lately built a new ho'use, with a furnace and a 
bathroom, and many took this as an unwarranted as- 
sumption of superiority. The poorer people might side 
with the Jacksons, and the trouble might at any moment 
become serious. 

David sighed, as he walked on toward the post- 
office. He was tired of these petty matters, and of 
the failure of those about him to lay hold upon the 
large things of life. He had been happy with his 
people, and he wished to serve them. Yet he was 
disloyal enough at this moment to long for an atmos- 
phere of culture, and for the society of men and women 
who shared the great world’s thought. He remembea^d 
Judge Lansing’s sparkling conve'rsation and keen in- 
sight into public affairs. He remembered Louise 
Lansing’s easy grace and refined beauty. Above all, 
he remembered Octavia Venett, and the voice which 
had thrilled him as he had never been thrilled befoi*e. 
What would people who talked about singing with 
clothes-pins on their noses have said if they could have 
heard that magnificent voice just once? 


20 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


He did not expect lettjers, but lie ^vent to the post- 
office through force of habit, as did the other citizens 
of Sweet Briar. The arrival of the afternoon mail 
was a time of public festivalj and was so kept by the 
entire male portion of the population. 

The little office was crowded, as usual. There was 
a chorus of greetings as Cole entered, for the young 
preacher was a favorite among the people of the village. 
He was so busy with these greetings that he came near 
forgetting to look in his box, and the postmaster called 
out, jocosely: 

^^This canT be a love-letter, Mr. Cole, or you M 
be on the lookout for it.’’ He held out a large, square 
envelope, with the address typewritten. 

David puzzled over it for a moment, and then 
caught sight of the postmark. He tore off the envel- 
ope, read a line or two, and then carried the letter 
home to finish the perusal in solitude. 

A call to the Rochester Avenue Church! How 
absurd I how glorious ! His head swam. He thought 
despairingly of the audience of cultured people, and 
tlie demands they would make — demands that he knew 
not how to satisfy. Then he thought exultantly of 
the great city, with its stress of life and its call to 
struggle and heroism and opportunity. He was in 
many ways young, even for his years, and the impulses 
of youth were still with him. He loved his people 


THE CALL ACCEPTED. 


21 


here, and it would be hard to leave them, but he had 
a boyish longing for large life and new forms of 
activity. 

Was it rash in him to venture? Would it not be 
foolish to turn away from such an opening? These 
contradictory questions chased each other through his 
mind. He looked about his little study, with its cheap 
furniture and its two small cases of books. It had 
sieemed to him unusually bare and plain since his 
return from the city. He fancied now that the walls 
had suddenly rolled back, permitting him to look out 
upon a world of glory and beauty. 

It was growing dark in the room. He lighted the 
lamp, and read again Judge Lansing’s well-balanced 
sentences. The invitation was cordiality itself. 
want you, and only you,” said the Judge. ^^We have 
had a taste, and this has given us an appetite for the 
full meal.” 

David made up his mind to sleep on the matter, 
that he might sober his senses before writing. But 
he could not settle down to study, and so he compo'sed 
a brief letter of acceptance, just to see how it would 
look. He decided that it was too formal, and tore it 
up. The next one he wrote seemed too familiar. The 
third, which was a sort of compromise, he felt might 
possibly do, and he tucked it away in a dra^ver, to 
be revised on the morrow. 


22 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


He wrote two otlier letters before he slept. One 
was his resignation, to be handed to the officers of the 
Sweet Briar Church upon the following Sunday. The 
other was to his mother, and told, modestly but joy- 
ously, the story of his great good fortune. 

Next week the newspapers announced that the 
Reverend David Cole, one of the most brilliant young 
men or his communion, and an orator of enviable 
reputation, had accepted a, call to the pulpit of the 
Rochester Avenue Church, made vacant two years ago 
by the death of the venerable Dr. Whartonbury. In 
the same connection, the nev^spapers stated that the 
Rochester Avenue Church was one of the wealthiest 
and most prominent churches of its denomination, and 
numbered many of the aristocratic families of tlie city 
among its communicants; and that, having been suc- 
cessful in securing the services of so distinguished a 
minister, a bright future awaited both pastor and people. 

David laughed heairtily over these notices, and 
their little collection of stock adjectives. He was 
ceHainly not ^^distinguished,’’ his ^^enviable repu- 
tation” having extended no farther than the borders 
of the college town where he had been educated, and 
throughout the simple community in which he 
preached. It never occurred to him to ask whether 
the phrases used to represent the church were of more 
or less accuracy than these. 


CHAPTEE III. 


A NEW FIELD AND A NEW WOKLD. 

The church on Eochestor Avenue gave a reception, to 
the new pastor immediately after his arrival in the city. 

Mrs. Van Dole had not been in favor of the recep- 
tion. do n’t altogether like these large gatherings,” 
she said. ^There are so many people one does n’t just 
know.” 

^^You might get acquainted with them,” said Mrs. 
Venett. The soprano could be charmingly dense, 
when she chose. 

Mrs. Van Dole studied her through her glasses with 
innocent, near-sighted broAvn eyes. ^^One can not know 
every one,” she said, gently. Her logic was not sur- 
prisingly original, but she had evidently been in the 
habit of finding it conclusive. 

The church parlors were exquisitely decorated, and 
were thronged with agreeable people. Judge and Mrs. 
Lansing and Mr. and Mrs. Ayers received with the 
new pastor, and introduced those who had not hitherto 
met him. David had a remarkably good memory for 
names and faces, and by the end of the evening he 
felt quite as if he Avere acquainted with his new con- 
gregation. 


24 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


Louiso Lansing came in early, but stayed only half 
an hour. She was going somewhere else, she said ; 
and she looked more like a picture than ever in her 
pale blue gown, with a modest knot of flesh-pink roses. 
She permitted David to wear one of these roses, and 
to talk to her 'while she ate an ice. 

^^Do you And it stupid?’’ she asked, with one of 
her glances of interrogation. 

^^Do I And what stupid?” 

^This.” 

^^Xot at all.” David smiled. rather think I 
like it.” He was tempted to add, ^^This part of it in 
particular,” but his good sense came to him in 
time. 

^^You will be tired of it before six months are 
over. But you will like it a great deal better than 
you do now.” 

What an enigmatical creature she was, for all the 
frankness in her lovely eyes ! Again there came the 
thought that she was classifying him. ^^Do you like 
it ?” he asked. 

^^Not this- — especially. But I like most things. 
There is always something ahead, you know. Even 
a butterfly has some expectations, possibly aspirations.” 
She it was who smiled now, and David wished that 
this smile came oftener — it was so unspeakably gracious 
and kind. 


A NEW EIELU AND A NEW WORLD. 


25 


Tlien Leslie Ayers came to tell her that the car- 
riage was at the door, and she said good night and 
went away. 

On the advice of some of the officers of the church, 
David had taken a bachelor’s suite in a fashionable 
apartment house near the church. There was a min- 
ister’s study and reception-room in the church, and 
here he would be found between the hours of ten and 
twelve each morning. For the rest, he would be free 
to come and go as he chose. 

The rooms in his suite were elegant, save for ''a 
rather bare appearance. His few belongings had looked 
cheap and out of place in his new quarters, so he had 
tucked them out of sight; and he did not as yet know 
what to buy in their place. His mother had given 
him a crayon portrait of herself on his last birthday, 
and this he hung over the mantel. For the first time 
it occurred to him that this picture was- not of a high 
order of art. 

^Hut it ’s mother, just tlie^ same,” he said, kissing 
his hand to the serene, sweet face with joyful gallantry. 

There was a cafe at the top of the building, and 
here he was to take his meals. He went up to break- 
fast rather late, on the morning following the recep- 
tion, and found tlie dining-room filled with ladies. 
The gentlemen had evidently breakfasted earlier and 
gone to their places of business, 


26 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


The tables we-re close together, and seated at the 
next one, with their backs toward him, were two stylish- 
looking women whose faces he did not know. This 
much he had learned concerning them from a glimpse 
in a neighboring mirror, as he took his seat. 

He was new enough to his surroundings to be inter- 
ested in everything, and, hearing one of the ladies 
mention the Eochester Avenue Church, he was uncon- 
sciously on the alert at once. 

^^Yes,’’ he heard the other say, ^^he has come. I 
promised Mrs. Van Dole I would go to hear him 
preach to-morrow. They say he is very handsome.’^ 
^Tndeed The very exclamation point quivered 
with polite interest. ^^Mrs. Van Dole likes him, then 
^^Oh, she is completely wrapped up in him, already ! 
She says he has a fine mind, and quotes beautifully.’^ 
David’s cheeks reddened as he realized that it was 
he himself who was being thus freely discussed by 
strangers. What he heard was perhaps more humili- 
ating than exhilarating, but he had enough of the earth 
about him to be glad that Mrs. Dole liked his way of 
^^quoting’’ — whatever that might mean. 

^^Were you at the Fannings’ last night?” was the 
next thing he caught. 

^Wes, for a little while. It was rather a young 
party, you know — Gertrude’s friends principally, with 
just enough married people to matronize it and — and 


A NEW FIELD AND A NEW WOKLD. 


27 


patronize it, or whatever else one sho-uld say. By the 
way, Mrs. Leland, I ’m going to tell you whose engage- 
ment we shall hear of next — Louise Lansing’s !” The 
speaker said this with a little air of triumph. 

^^You don’t say? To whom?” 

^^To — Mr. — Leslie — Ayers !” The trimnph deep- 
ened. 

^A^ou don’t tell me! Is it really announced?” 
don’t believe it has really happened.” The 
speaker laughed at the thought of her own insight. 
^^But he adores her. I ’ve suspected it ever since he 
came back from Europe, and last night it was quite 
unmistakable. She danced with him only once, so long 
as I stayed, for you know how fastidious she is. She 
simply will not allow herself to be singled out by any 
man. But poor Leslie could n’t keep it out of his 
eyes. I think it a lovely match — do n’t you ?” 

^^Ye-es — though they seem very different, some- 
how.” 

^AVell, they are. Louise is a great deal cleverer — 
the cleverest girl I have ever known, in fact.” 

^^And Leslie Ayers is n’t clever in the least.” 

^^Yo, he is n’t. But he is extremely good-hearted, 
and the family is all that could be desired. He has 
had the best of advantages, and will always make a 
nice appearanca There is nothing in the least ridic- 
ulous about him. The Landings are not rich, and 


28 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


Louise is the sort of girl who must have a handsome 
setting. The Ayers have money enough to give it to 
her, and he is the only son — ’’ 

David puslied back his untasted coffee, and left the 
table!. He was indignant, wretched, despairing, all 
at once. How could he have listened, how could the 
women have spoken as they had ? What right had he 
to hear, even by accident, what belonged to the inner- 
most of a woman’s life? What right had any one to 
discuss Louise Lansing’s prospects as if this lovely 
girl were a piece of bric-a-brac at an auction, to be 
dis]i>osed of to the highest bidder ? 

He was still a boy, with all a boy’s ideals. The 
thought of love and marriage held its sacred place 
within his soul. How dare these women — ^women with 
the outVard appearance of refinement — drag this 
thought out before the world and trample upon it ? 

But this was not Avhat had taken hold upon 
him most strongly. One little sentence said itself to 
him over and over again : ^^She danced with him only 
once.” 

In the only case of church discipline with which 
David had ever had anything to do, two giddy young, 
girls had been excluded from the Sweet Briar Church 
for attending a ball in a neighboring village. The 
girls had been visited by the church officers and by 
David himself. They had cried bitterly when he had 


A NEW FIELD AND A NEW WORLD. 


29 


told them what must bo if they remained unrepentant, 
but they had refused to say they would never do any- 
thing of the same sort again. ^^Other folks do things 
just as bad/’ had been their excuse. ^^Mr. Doyle is 
just as sharp as anybody on a horsey-trade, if he is a 
deacon. He need n’t be so down on other folks’ doings.” 

And so the girls had been excluded from the church. 
It had been very gently done. 'Not a word had been 
said in public, through consideration for the parents 
of the girls and the hope that they might some day 
return. But., though pastor and officers were sorry 
enough to have it so, there had never been a moment’s 
doubt among them as to what course must be taken. 
Judged by the standards to which they had always 
been accustomed, the girls had done wrong, and must 
be dealt with accordingly. 

Yet Mr. Doyle was ^^sharp” in a horse-trade, and 
was guilty of many other little acts in the conduct of 
his business at which Judge Lansing’s finely-cut lip 
would be likely to curl in scorn. Wei’e certain things 
wrong in the country, then, and certain other things 
wrong in the city? What was right and what was 
wrong? Was religion, after all, merely a matter of 
geography ? 

It was Saturday, and he went over to the church 
and tried to compose himself for the duties of the 
morrow. His sermons were ready, and he wished to 


30 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


have the details of the service well in mind, that no 
mistake might occur on this first Sunday. 

He found that he had no announcement of the 
weekly prayer-meeting, and he went to the telephone 
and asked Judge Lansing if any arrangement had 
been made for it 

meant to speak to you about that,’’ was the 
Judge’s reply. ^^It is not customary here to hold the 
conventional prayer-meeting. The pastor gives a mid- 
week lecture, on Wednesday night, instead. I trust 
this will be quite agreeable to you?” 

^^Quite agreeable,” answered David ; but as he 
turned away from the telephone he looked down at 
the fioor, to make sure that it still stood finn beneath 
his feet. 


CHAPTER IV. 


BOTH SIDES. 

The Ayers mansion was aglow with light and fra- 
grant with the perfume of flowers. Mrs. Ayers was 
^Wtertaining.’’ More accurately speaking, Airs, xlyers 
was providing entertainment for the multitude. She 
was not herself fond of society, and she was quite con- 
scious of the fact that she did not shine. She was 
a comfortable, motherly little woman, Avho had been' 
famous, in the early days of her married life, for her 
chicken croquettes and fruit salads. She would have 
been surpassingly happy in a modest home., with just 
sufficient income to furnish a good larder and provide 
the very latest things in the way of cooking utensils. 
But Eate had been so unkind as to give her more than 
she could enjoy, thereby taking from her pleasures 
while adding to her responsibilities. Every' year her 
husband grew richer. Every year the burdens of 
society gTew heavier. She looked enviously upon Mrs. 
Lansing, who could bear her frail body to six receptions 
in one afternoon without flinching. 

^^She never stands on one foot at a time, even,’’ 
was Mrs. Ayers’ plaintive comment should think 
her back would break, 


31 


82 


A POrULAK IDOL. 


Mrs. Ayers was hepself standing on one foot now, 
and had been for an hour, though her rich silken gown 
carefully concealed the fact. Poor, dear little woman ! 
It is a shame to reveal the workings of that honest 
mind, but at this minute she was thinking how much 
better the salad would have been if she could have 
made it herself. 

^^So pleased to see you, Mr. X ^^So happy to 
see you, Mrs. Y ^‘So delighted to see you, Mrs. Z !’’ 
she kept saying, cheerfully. But the foot doing service 
just at the present was aching cruelly, and she was, oh ! 
so glad that this thing had to be gone through with 
only twice a year. 

David Cole was bowing over her hand now, and her 
face brightened, for she liked the young minister, . as 
did every one else. Xo one would suspect him in these 
days of not knowing when to wear a dress suit. His 
attire w^as severely correct, and through the influence 
of sympathetic contact wdth the world his face had 
grofwn handsomer than ever. 

^^You are giving a great many people new reasons 
to be grateful to you, Mrs. Ayers,^’ he said, looking 
into the crowded rooms. 

^^Yes, tliere are ever so many here,’^ agreed Mrs. 
Ayers with a little sigh. The sigh expressed her devout 
inward hope that not one of the dear five hundred 
had noticed the unsatisfactory quality of the salad. 


BOTH SIDES. 


33 


In a moment, David was surrounded by eager 
friends. It was always so, and he never stopped to 
question why. Louise Lansing^s prediction of six 
months ago had already come true. He was often tired 
of coming and going and of being lionized every^vhere, 
but he liked it better every day. 

Mrs. Van Dole was at his side in a moment, to 
ask that he settle a discussion with regard to thd exact 
extent of Hamlet’s madness. 

^^We had the matter up at our club to-day,” she 
said. ‘^I contend that it was pure inspiration. Is n’t 
true genius always irregular and unconventional ? It 
is in itself a kind of melancholy madness, is it not ? 
There was Byron, for instance. You do believe” — 
her voice was fairly trembling with gentle eagerness — 
^^you do believe that all true genius is inspired ? Some 
people are so narrow. About religion, too. Don’t 
you think it very narrow to assume that Buddha and 
Confucius were uninspired ? And Plato- — how could 
any one have doubts about Plato? Teachers of otLer 
religions have said the most beautiful things. And some 
of tlieir doctrines are lovely. Of course^, Christianity — ” 
She would have gone on all night, but he gently 
led the conversation back to Hamlet and so to a ter- 
mination. 

lovely company to-night, is it not?” she asked 
as he was leaving lier. ^^One is tempted to go out too 


34 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


much, among such agreeable people, I think. I find 
myself constantly yielding. But the mind and soul 
must be fed, too, and there is not time for all. How 
do you manage, Mr. Cole? You seem to be always 
bathing your soul in the ideal, and yet one meets you 
everywhere. You make me think of Galahad, whose 
strength was as the strength of ten.’’ 

How did he manage? He often asked himself the 
question. He was constantly led on and on, and 
strength, physical and mental, was given he knew not 
how. 

He did not relish being likened to Sir Galahad, 
however, for he had an impression that the spiritual 
resemblance was sadly incomplete. 

He saw Mrs. Venett and went to her. 

^^How good you are !” she said. ^^One; does n’t 
expect a river to turn out of its channel, or Mr. Cole 
to cross the room to meet a friend.” 

king turned a river out of its course, once upon 
a time,” he said. ^AVhy not a queen?” 

It was merely a bit of foolish gallantry, but the 
color mounted slowly to the lovely face. How she 
must have hated herself for it — she who was queen by 
virtue of her wondrous self-control ! 

^^You embarrass me,” she confesvsed. ^^Have you 
settled Mrs. Van Dole’s anxieties about Hamlet?” She 
spoke softly, but not without a hint of sarcasm. 


BOTH SIDES. 


35 

put in the best word possible for the poor old 
Dane.’^ David was always slightly disturbed by Mrs. 
Venett’s sarcasm.. 

^^Dear old Hamlet! jSTo wonder he was puzzled 
over the question of whether to be or not. It would n^t 
have taken him long to settle it, though, if he had 
been obliged to live, if at all, in the day of the modern 
club. He would never have been, in this world.^’ 

am surprised that you should decry clubs. You 
belong — ’’ 

^^To five. Then, who should be acquainted with 
them, if not I ? Is it not the preacher who observes 
and rebukes the shortcomings of the church 

She seemed light enough, but sometimes her words 
struck home. Did she mean that he had or had not 
seen the shortcomings of the church? Or was the 
speech altogether a random one? He could not tell. 

David knew that she had singular power over him. 
At first he had thought the charm was in her marvelous 
voice. How he believed it to be in her clear insight 
and her knowledge of the world. He could never resist 
his desire to know what she thought of things, and 
to look upon them from her angle. In truth, though 
these things entered in, and though her beauty influ- 
enced him more than he would have believed possible, 
her real power was the sway of a strong will over a will 
as yet undisciplined and undeveloped. 


86 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


^^Miss Lansing is very lovely to-niglit, is she not?'^ 
Mrs. Venett asked. She spoke the words as if they 
came grudgingly, but as if her sense of justice 
demanded them. 

have not seen her to-night, but she is always 
that, I tliink.’^ 

^Took just inside of the library door.’’ 

Louise stood just inside of a bovver of palms, her 
serious, interrogative face upturned toward old Karl 
jSTeiberger, the church organist, who was talking 
excitedly and gesticulating wildly. She had been 
Karl’s pupil, and the two were very good friends. 

He wondered if Louise knew what a visiion of 
loveliness she made. He had never been able to make 
up his mind how much art there was about this girl, 
who seemed at once so sincere and so worldly-wise. 

^Hoor old Karl is undoubtedly apostrophizing 
Wagner,” said Mrs. Venett. ^^He has never learned 
that enthusiasm has no place in modern society.” 

David smiled. ^^One can imagine him, as he catehes 
the first burst of music from the angel choirs, stamping 
his foot and crying, ^Po-juitiful ! Pe-yutiful !’ ” 

^Wou must grant him his shaggy hair and his badly 
fitting coat, thoiugh. I firmly refuse to picture him 
in the conventional angelic attire.” 

Some one else was looking at Louise Lansing, and 
with far more interest than the young minister showed. 


both; sides. 


37 


Leslie Ayers had his eyes on the bower of palms, and 
as he turned them away they caught those of David. 
The son of the house reddened perceptibly, and David, 
sorry to have embarrassed him, crossed to where he 
stood. 

^^Dear fellow, I have never congratulated you,’’ he 
said under his breath. He would not have felt that 
he had a right to speak, save that Leslie’s confusion 
seemed to make it the kindest thing to do. 

^^You are so good !” Leslie was David’s most 
devoted friend, looking up to him with that pathetic 
admiration which a man of brain sometimes receives 
from a man who has none and realizes his deficiency. 
^^Biit there is nothing to congratulate me upon — yet.” 

^There will be.” ^ David believed what he said, 
though he was scarcely prepared for the tremulous 
thanks his young parishioner gave him. Certainly, 
Leslie did not seem quite so hopeful as most young 
men would have been under the circumstances. 

David did not speak to Louise until just before 
he left the housa To-night, for the first time, he 
had chanced to contrast her with Mrs. Venett. The 
singer was always the center of an admiring group, 
all anxious to catch her sparkling words. Louise gave 
to each person in turn the same serious, inquiring, 
impartial attention, and though she was never a con- 
spicuous center of attraction, this fact seemed to be 


38 


A POFULAK IDOL. 


altogetiier through choice on her part. Was it all art, 
and art of the highest type, or was it a nature that 
the artifices of society could not spoil? 

saw you early in the evening,’’ he said, ^^but 
I could not bear to deprive you of one of Karl’s rap- 
tures.” 

One of her rare smiles came. ^^One must reverence 
Karl’s raptures, I think,” she said. ^^They are so 
true.” 

Did Louise, then, care so much for Avhat was true? 

David reached his rooms at midnight, to find a 
ragged boy of thirteen or fourteen waiting outside the 
door. 

^^He ’s a queer one,” the elevator boy had informed 
the minister. told him you was never around till 
this time, but he would go up. He ’s been waiting for 
an hour, and he just won’t budge.” 

^^Mother wants you to come right over,” the visitor 
informed David, with an eagerness quite at variance 
with the length of time he had waited to deliver his 
message. ^^There ’s a woman at our house that ’s took 
bad, and she said I was n’t to come back without you.” 

^^Does she know me ?” 

^^Dono. I reckon” — he looked over David’s im- 
maculate dress suit — reckon not.” 

^^She is sick, you say ?” 

^^Bad to-night. She ’s alwus sick.” 


IjOTK SIDES. 


39 


The boy was already on his way to the elevator. 
David followed him. They walked a mile or more, 
and the minister found himself in a part of the city 
which was altogether new to him. It was not the 
^^slum district’’ — that he had inspected early — but one 
of the older sections of the city, which had originally 
been built up with fairly good dwellings. The section 
had at length been claimed by small shops and factories, 
and the houses had passed out of the hands of the 
first owners. They were occupied for the most part 
by the families of the factory hands, and were fast 
falling into decay. The one they entered was one of 
the most neglected. 

The boy pointed upstairs. ^^You can go up,” he 
said. guess she ain’t dead yet, or they ’d have hung 
the sign out.” 

A stout woman, presumably the landlady, appeared 
in response to his knock. ^^So Xat found you,” she 
said. ^'He was gone an awful while. Come right in. 
She can’t last much longer, but she was bound to hold 
out till you come. I believe in their having the priest 
when they want him, be they Catholic or Protestant, 
and I ain’t the one to grudge taking a bit of trouble 
for a poor body, at such a time as this.” 

He went in. A girl or woman — he could not guess 
the age — lay on a single bed, near the one window, 
which was open. The room was not clean, nor in any 


40 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


sense comfortable. The invalid was horribly wasted. 
The bones seemed to have all but thrust themselves 
through the skin of the hand which lay outside the 
cover. A streak of purplish color stained either cheek, 
and her lips, parted for breath, were parched and 
dark. 

^‘The priest has come, Allie,’’ the landlady said. 

The eyes slowly opened, and in them there dawned 
a look of recognition. 

^^Do n’t you — know me ?” came, every word a gasp, 
from between the parched lips. 

^^Allie Conwell !” The yoiing minister had impul- 
sively taken the wasted hand in both of his. Its clammy 
coldness startled him. 

He had kno'Avm her very well. She had been a mem- 
ber of his Sunday-school class in the little church at 
Sweet Briar, and he had thought her a girl of unusual 
.refinement, for one whom the world had always used 
roughly. She was an orphan, and had left Sweet Briar 
to find a .home with an aunt in a distant city. Since 
ithen he had not heard of her. 

^^How long have you been here?” he asked, glancing 
self-reproachingly at her dreary surroundings. Ho^v 
many hundreds of dollars he had spent in mere luxuries 
these last few months ! 

^^Almost — a year. My aunt died — -and I came — to 
— ^find work.” 


BOTH SIDES. 


41 


^^Longer than I Lave been in the city, O Allie, I 
wish you had let me know !” 

‘^1 — had not — the courage. I came once — ^to hear 
you — preach, but — it was all so fine, and I was afraid 
— to speak to you.^^ 

^^How sorry I am! And you have been sick a 
long while, perhaps.’’ 

^^Almost — three months. Sometimes better, some- 
times — worse. No- — breath — now. This — the end.” 

He picked up an old newspaper, and began to fan 
her gently. The violets in his buttonhole were begin- 
ning to fade, but their perfume was still sweet. He 
took them off and placed them in her hand. His face 
was wet with tears. 

^^Tell — the — folks — in Sweet Briai^ — I said — good- 
by. Tell them — I tried — to live — honest — ^but — I wish 
I had gone- — to church — more.” 

will surely tell them, Allie. But I wish I had 
known, and could have helped you.” 

^^All past— now. Read to me — ^My Shepherd’ — M 
— ^^shall — not — ’ ” 

He felt for his Bible, and then remembered that 
he had on his dress coat. 'No matter. He needed no 
book to remind him of the words of that greatest of 
poems, learned at his mother’s knee. He recited it 
softly, in a voice broken by sobs. The dying girl was 
far calmer than he. 


42 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


He was kneeling for prayeir when Allie gasped 
piteously and reached both arms upward. He lifted 
her and held her close to the window. The paroxysm 
passed and he laid her back upon the pillow. She 
closed her eyes as if exhausted, and presently he saw 
that she was imconscious. 

He and the landlady watched beside her for an 
hour. He had never sat at a death-bed before, and 
he could not realize that the end was at hand. How 
could it be? Allie had looked upon him with intelli- 
gence but a little while before. However wasted the 
body and weary the spirit, the change from life to 
clay is great. 

The breathing slackened. Then ^^She ’s gone, poor 
soul!^’ the landlady said, as she folded the shriveled 
hands. ^^She thought she ’d got enough saved to bury 
her, and I let her think so. What was the use of her 
knowing she ’d be on the city at last ? But what was 
left wonT near do, and if you would speak — 

He groaned aloud. She had been so near, so poor, 
and, worst of all, so star^^ed of soul, and he could have 
helped her ! 

It was daylight when he went to his room. He 
caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror of the 
elevator, and was surprised at its ghastliness. Within 
the past eight hours he had seen both sides of life. To 
which side, he wondered, would his future belong? 


OHAPTEE V. 


IN SUMMER-TIME. 

The death of Allie Coiiwell had made a singular 
impression upon David’s mind. For months he was 
unable to get rid of it, even for an hour. He fell 
asleep with the dreary scene before him. He awoke 
wdth a start, again to live over this first face-to-face 
encounter with death. 

are ill,” Mrs. Venett told him, one day when 
he had called on an errand. noticed your face under 
the pulpit light last night. The lines have sharpened 
within a month. What has happened to you ?” 

He could not say. He felt, indeed, that he could 
never tell the story. So he put her off with kindly 
protestations, and hid the experience in his own heart. 

Yet, strangely enough, he told the story that very 
afternoon, and to the one to whom, of all others, he 
would have said that he could not speak. 

He was coming away from the reference-room of 
the public library, early in the afternoon, and just 
outside he overtook Louise Lansing, who was hurrying 
on with a big book under her arm. 

^Ht is quite preposterous for you to carry such a 
legal-looking affair,” he said. ^Wour arms were con- 
structed for the violin, and such like frivolities.” 

43 


M 


A POPULAR IDOIi. 


As he took the book he glanced at it so dubiously 
that she smiled. 

^^It will not explode/^ she said. 

am devoured with curiosity. Does your father 
trust you with the court reports?’’ 

^^Indeed he does not. That innocent volume is the 
record of the Free Kindergarten Board, and I am 
carrying it because I chance to be the secretary.” 

He was surprised, and studied her calm face closely. 
But there was nothing to be read in it. 

^Hndeed !” he said. ^That is a beautiful work — a 
real beneficence. You are brought face to face mth 
a great deal of poverty, no doubt?” 

^^Sometimes — often enough to be reminded of the 
never-ending tragedy that is going on about us.” 

Her words seemed so like an echo of his own 
thoughts that, before he knew it, he had told her the 
story of poor Allie’s death. She did not shed tears 
or utter ejaculations. Indeed, he could not be quite 
sure that she felt it all as he did. Why should she? 

^Ht is not that the physical suffering and the pov-^ 
erty seem so terrible,” he said at length, as if in 
explanation of his emotion. ^Ht is that the minds and 
souls of men are stifling for a larger air. And we—t 
do we try to give it to them ?” 

am not sure that we have it to give,” Louise 
said^ slowly. ^^Tliat is the supreme crime of our self- 


m SUMMER-TIME, 


45 


ishness, I think — not that we give so little, but that 
we have so little to give/’ 

They had reached her destination by this time, and 
he could not detain her, though he longed to ask her 
what she meant. How she puzzled and baffled him! 
There were times, and to-day was one of them, when 
she seemed to him years older than himself. To-mor- 
row, no doubt, he would meet her in some gay social 
gathering, and talk to her as if he were old enough 
to be her father. 

The winter’s work had been heavy, and now that 
the social season was over he began to feel the reaction 
which naturally followed an unwonted strain. The 
leading people of the church were traveling or at sum- 
mer resorts, and there was no longer the inspiration 
for his sermons that there had been with a full house 
and responsive listeners. 

^^Better run across the water for a couple of months, 
and get toned up for the winter’s work,” Judge Lan- 
sing told him. ^^We always close the church for July 
and August. There is nobody in town, you know, and 
the members of the choir expect to take their vacation 
at that timew” 

do n’t want to go so far away. Leslie Ayers 
has been kind enough to ask me to go with him for 
a month’s fishing, and I must see my mother before 
I come back.” 


46 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


all means. That makes a tempting summeir^s 
program, though it is n’t quite like putting the Atlantic 
between you and your cares. I wish you joy, I am 
sure. We are off to the coast by the early train. I 
have a bit of a cottage there — not big enough for foraial 
entertaining, but quite big enough for a welcome. If 
you have a spare week before your vacation is over, 
come and spend it with us.” 

^Thank you,” said David, pressing the other’s hand 
warmly. ^Tf I stay away, it will be in sheer mercy. 
But I dare say I shall come. Good-by.” 

The following week he closed his rooms and went 
away with Leslie. They found a little fishing village, 
on the Michigan coast, and lived out of doors until 
both grew brown and ruddy and David’s nerves recov- 
ered their tone. For Leslie, it was joy enough to be 
with David, whom he reverenced as hero and sage in one. 

They had been kept in one day by a steady, driving 
rain, and one after another the sources of indoor 
recreation had been exhausted. Leslie was not fond 
of books, and David felt that it was all but brutal 
to devour volume after volume while his companion 
restlessly paced the veranda or lounged in a camp-chair 
and looked gloomily out over the gray waters. 

^Teslie,” broke out David, suddenly, ^Svhy did you 
come here, instead of going to Point Breeze with your 
folks and the Lansings ?” 


m SUMMER-TIME. 


47 


Leslie’s face grew red, through the tan. wanted 
to have you along with me/’ he said, ^^and I thought 
you would be more likely to come here than to go h 
the coast.” 

^^Thank you, Ayers — that ’s generous and I appre- 
ciate it. But I would feel still more sure of your 
friendship if you would give me your confidence. I 
wish you would let me help you, if I can. That is 
little to ask in return for all your goodness, is it not ? 
Has anything come between you and Miss Lansing 
that makes you unhappy, or uncertain about the 
future ?” 

Leslie’s eyes came back from the water. ^^You ’re 
awfully kind, Mr. Oole,” he said, ^^and — and — I ’d 
like to tell you all about it, if I knew how. You see, 
Louise is n’t like other girls. You might understand 
all the rest of ’em, and it would n’t help you a bit 
about understanding her.” 
know,” David agreed. 

^^Maybe you understand her, but I do n’t.” 

^^K'o, I do not understand her. I do not know her 
very well.” 

’m not sure that I do'. But I have admired her 
always, and thought there was nobody in the world 
to compare with her. And when I came back from 
Europe, and saw her after being away from her for 
a long time, I — I can hardly tell you how I felt. I 


48 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


wished I had brains and culture and all that, just so 
she would never feel a difference between us. It was n’t 
for myself that I wanted it, at all, but for her. She 
seemed friendly and kind, and though I was n’t sure 
of her, I could n’t help feeling that I had a better 
chance than anybody else I knew. When I told her 
how I felt she said she must take time to think it 
over — that she could give me no real hope — and some- 
how the way she said it made me feel uncertain. Some 
women would say a thing of that sort to make you 
keen, but Louise never does what other women would. 
See here, Mr. Cole- — this is a letter she sent me a 
month ago. Eead it.” 

David shrank back quickly. ^^No, Ayers,” he said, 

can’t do that. It ’s part of her secret, you know.” 

^^But I want you to,” persisted Leslie. ^^I can’t 
make you understand in any other , way. I ’m no good 
at telling things, you know. And if I do n’t care, she 
certainly won’t. There ’s nothing she can object to.” 

Long afterward, and through weary mental proc- 
esses, David tried to decide why he took and read 
this letter. He was used to receiving confidences, and 
Leslie, his devoted companion and admirer, seemed 
especially near to him. But he had an imusually 
delicate sense of honor, and to read a letter so 
manifestly intended for another pair of eyes only was 
an act of which, ordinarily, he would have deemed 


m SUAIMEK-TIME. 


49 


him&elf wholly incapable. Perhaps — he could never 
be sure — his desire to know Louise as she really was 
overcame him for the moment. At all events, he took 
the letter and began to read; and, having begun, he 
saw no way but to go on to the end. 

^^To say that I am sorry, my dear friend,’’ she 
wrote, ^^seems so cheap that I am ashamed of the words. 
But I am indeed more grieved and heartsick than 
you will ever know. I am going to tell you the whole 
truth, though you may think it a strange piece of 
frankness. You know the world in which I have 
always lived, for we have lived in it side by side. I 
have grown up with the thought that the daughter of 
a house must serve her turn, and, in time, become 
mistress of another. I might have thought for my- 
self, and felt more deeply, perhaps — perhaps I did, 
in a vague way — but I had never formed any real 
purpose of living otherwise than as I saw that others 
lived. Dear friend, how can I write it down ? I have 
no pity for myself as I say it, and how can I hope 
that you will pity me? When you began to show a 
preference for me, I felt well enough satisfied that it 
should be so.. Our families were congenial, you had 
been a kind friend always, and I thought I could be 
as happy with you as with any one. But now, as I 
face the future, I have come to know myself better. 
I know that to marry you with no stronger feeling 


50 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


Would be a sin against you — all tlie more that you 
have given me such unselfish love — and a sin against 
my own soul. I wish you to know just this: That 
my humiliation is greater than your pain, as I tell you 
that I can never, never be your wife.’’ 

^Tt ’s a strange letter, is n’t it ?” Leslie asked, as 
David folded and handed back the delicately scented 
sheet. 

^^Very strange,” said David, absently. He was 
wonderiug how he could ever dare to look into Louise 
Lansing’s eyes again. He felt like a thief. What 
right had he to know her heart ? It seemed io him 
that it would have been far more honorable to steal 
her jewels — only that she never wore jewels. 

He had fully meant to visit the Lansings before 
the summer was over, but now he felt that he could 
not go. He stayed another week with Leslie, and tried 
to believe that he enjoyed himself; but in truth he 
had grown used to the stir of active life and soon be- 
came conscious that he missed it. His nervousness 
returned, and he could not sleep for the solitude. So 
he sent home for a valise of what he called ^^civilian’s 
clothes,” and went, to a small resort farther up the 
lake, where Mrs. Venett was staying.- 

^^Good !” she said. ^Wou have grown nice and 
brown, and seem no longer in a mood to invite 
translation.” 


IN SUMMEK-TIME. ^ 


51 


^^You have grovii nio© and brown too/’ he said, 
^“biit as for your ever having invited translation — ” > 
^^Oh, you are certainly going to live !” she exclaimed. 
^^Your sauciness has all come back to you.” 

She was certalnlv very beautiful, and he was, on 
the whole, glad he had come. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A DAY AND A NIGHT. 

Five iiiontlis later, David Cole sat in his study one 
morning dictating a letter to his stenographer. So 
rapidly had his duties and engagements multiplied that 
he now found it necessary to have the services not only 
of his secretary, hut also of an assistant pastor; and 
even with this help he often realized that he was bur- 
dened beyond his strength. 

He looked up wearily. ^Alr. J effries,’^ he said, 
wish you would see what I have on hand for to-day. 
I am not sure that I have remembered everything.’^ 

Mr. Jeffries, the dapper little secretary, consulted 
the minister’s tablet of engagements. 

^^Tbere is tlie paper before the Browning Club at 
eleven, luncheon with. Mr. Leslie Ayers at two, a lecture 
before the students of Randolph College at four, sub- 
ject, ^Tbe He^v Education,’ and the annual banquet of 
the Round Robin Club to-night, with a response to the 
toast, ^The Preacher in Society.’ That is all, I be- 
lieve.” 

^Ht is quite enough, I am sure. It’s time now 
that I were off for the Browning Club. I sat up most 
of last night to finish my paper for that meeting, and 


A DAY A^B A NIGHT. 


53 


1 have n’t made the least preparation for the banquet. 
Fortunately, I dine at home. I may be able to think 
of something to say before the time comes. Write out 
these letters, please, and I will come in and sign them 
before I go to luncheon.” 

He started down the street, but again and again 
he was stopped by acquaintances. 

^We shall certainly see you at the banquet to-night 
inquired a military-looking man. ^^Senator Lamberne 
has expressed a particular desire to meet you, and I 
told him you would certainly be there to-night. He 
had the pleasure of hearing you at the dedication of 
the Soldiers’ Monument, you remember, and he compli- 
ments your oratory in the highest terms — says you 
ought to be in politics, and all that.” And the speaker 
laughed with the manner of one who finds no fault with 
himself. 

am much obliged to him, Colonel Traxley,” Da- 
vid assured him, am afraid, though, that I would 
have less than no talent for politics. You patriarchs 
would demoralize a young preacher in short order.” 

Colonel Traxley laughed again as he said good, 
morning. He liked the young minister. So did every- 
body else. 

At the next corner David met a dainty little woman 
in blue, who besought him on no account to forgtrt that 
he had partially promised to look in upon the Dorcas 


54 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


bazaar to be given to-morrow night for the benefit of 
the associated charities. 

^^]^ow, really/^ said David, ^^either yon exaggerate, 
or I am an unconscionable wretch, for I dine out to- 
morrow night.’’ 

The dainty lady pouted becomingly. do n’t be- 
lieve I exaggerate one single bit,” she said. ^^You told 
me you would come to the bazaar if you found it would 
interfere with no engagement.” 

^^But it would.” 

^^Oh, you must come back for it — indeed, you must. 
We are counting upon it, you know. Promise me now, 
won’t you, please ?” 

^^How can I promise, when the first train comes into 
the city at eleven o’clock ?” 

^^How cruel ! And you are quite certain that you 
were promised there first ?” 

^^Quite certain. I am sorry, but you really will 
have to excuse me.” 

The pout deepened and grew less becoming. ^^You 
dreadful person !” proclaimed the dainty lady. 
would n’t be so popular for anything. It simply makes 
one a hard-hearted tyrant.” 

David laughed as he said good-by and hurried on 
to the Browning Club. Mrs. Venett was the president 
of this club, which was judged the most exclusive and 
therefore the most popular of all the women’s organi- 


A DAY AND A NIGHT. 


55 


zations of the city. It was visitors’ day, and one of the 
most beautiful homes on Rochester Avenue was thiwvn 
open to the company. David was the guest of honor, 
and the hero of the hour. 

He had prepared his paper with great care. In- 
deed, it was not in him to do anything carelessly. All 
his giving was of his best. 

^^What a perfectly wonderful man you are!” Mrs. 
Van Dole said. ^^You know about everything. Some 
preachers are so narrow. They have never read any- 
thing but antiquated theology. I do so admire breadth. 
How, what you had to say this morning about Brown- 
ing’s universality, you know — ” 

David did not know that he had said anything abo-ut 
Browning’s universality; but Mrs. Van Dole had a 
genius for interpretation. Fortunately, Mrs. Venett 
came up and relieved him. 

^^Well, you are the lion, as usual, Mr. Cole,” she 
said. ^^You seem equal to every occasion.” 

^Tike Bottom the Weaver,” he suggested. ^^The 
lion’s part, you must remember, is purely incidental 
with Bottom and me.” 

^^By no means. It is serious business. The world 
can get along without its pack-horses, but its lions it 
must have.” 

^^You are a dangerous person, Mrs. Venett. You 
have helped to get me introduced to people, and to per- 


56 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


suade them to be civil to me, and nof\v you deride me 
for the result of your own work.’’ 

^^Indeed I did and I do nothing of the sort. I 
merely recognized the inevitable the first time I ever 
saw you. You are a lion born, and I knew it, though 
you masqueraded — ” 

^^In calves’ skin,” supplied David. ^^Thank you, 
Mrs. Venet^t, you are very discerning.” 

She was very handsome also, and very charming, and 
quick of tongua For the first time! in his life it oc- 
curred to him to ask himself if he cared for her deeply. 
Well, and if he did ? She would not be lightly won, 
but the world would applaud the courage of the winner. 

He hurried away from his fair entertainers, went 
to his study, signed his letters, and started out to keep 
his appointment with Leslie Ayers. He had just closed 
the door of the study when his telephone bell rang. His 
secretary had gone to luncheon, and he went back to 
answer the call. The message was from the Lansing 
home, and was pitifully brief. Mrs. Lansing had died 
suddenly of heart disease fifteen minutes before. Would 
he come at once ? 

He fairly ran to the house. It did not matter 
about sending a message to Leslie. He, too, would 
have heard the news, and would understand. 

Poor Louise! David had seen less of her dur- 
ing these past few months than hitherto, partly be- 


A DAY AND A NIGHT. 57 

cause he had beeai crowded and burdened, but more 
because he felt so keenly conscious of the wrong he 
had done in reading the letter which revealed her 
inmost self. The questioning look of those clear eyes 
was sometimes quite beyond endurance. He felt as if 
she were reading his knowledge of her in his face. 
He often told himself that he would rather confess 
all to her, and be able to meet her in the old, frank 
way, but, somehow, the time for confession never came. 

The home where he had so often been a welcome 
guest was in confusion. Friends, just having heard 
the news, were hurrying in and out, and the servants 
were distracted by the shock. 

Mr. Ayers was waiting in the hall. ^^You can 
go to them at once,’’ he said. ^^The Judge has asked 
it. He does not wish to see any one else.” 

He went to the little sitting-room upstairs where 
it had been the Judge’s custom to sit in the late af- 
ternoon with his wife. The father and daughter were 
side by side upon the sofa., with the hush of their 
sorrow upon them. 

Louise was the first to see David, and she came 
forward to meet him with grave kindness. She could 
not speak, but her eyes looked a welcome. 

The same feeling of helplessness came to David 
that he had had at Allie Conwell’s bedside. His re^ 
sources seemed suddenly to become inadequate, 


58 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


The Judge clasped his hand in silence, and mo- 
tioned him to a seat. Louise was the first of the 
three to speak. 

^There was no warning,’^ she said, in a voice but 
just above a whisper. ^^She seemed quite well an hour 
ago—” 

The girl sank down upon the sofa. The sight of 
her grief unnerved David. Was there nothing he 
could say? Was there no help to be given? 

^D'lo not try to tell me,^’ he said, gently. ^^Do not 
try to talk. Some other time — but the sense of in- 
adequacy overmastered him, and he could not go on. 

What could he say? What was there to say? 
Mrs. Lansing had led a narrow and perhaps a worldly 
life, but it was the life lived all about her. Who was 
he, that he should judge? Must he be dumb, when 
these stricken ones Avere crying to him to speak? 

The Judge presently controlled himself. can 
see noAV that she has been failing,’’ he said. ^^But she 
had great ambition and she never gave up. We were 
out last evening, eA^en, but she was very tired and 
asked to come home early. I Avonder this did not 
alarm me, but she has never been strong, you knoAv. 
I Avas not even here at the last. Five minutes’ Avalk 
aAvay, coming from the office, and Louise — alone !” 

He laid his hand upon his daughter’s shoulder, as 
if he Avould have shielded her if he could. She rested 


A DAY AISTD A NIGHT. 


59 


her head against it rather as one who gives comfort 
than as one who receives it. 

I can do anything — began David, 
wish you to take charge of everything. It is all 
so sudden — but you understand us, and whatever you 
decide upon will be right.^’ 

^^Yo'U wish it all to be very quiet, no doubt 

^^That would be my wish, certainly. Louise?’’ 
trust it may be very quiet,” she said, with sud- 
den effort. 

He rose to go away, feeling that they were better 
together while their sorrow was so ne\v. Louise went 
with him to the door of the room. 

hope you can come in again soon,” she said. 
^Ht will be a great comfort to father. You need not 
say anything. He will know. He believes — ^what 
you believe, you know. He is stunned — that is all.” 

Her voice seemed to cool his burning brain. 
^^Please forgive me for not being able to help you,” he 
said. do not know about death. It has never come 
near me.” 

^^I understand,” she said, softly. ^^It can not be 
lived for any one else.” And yet he knew that she 
missed something in him which she would have been 
glad to find. 

He stayed downstairs for an hour, dictating mes- 
sages, which he left to be submitted to the Judge, and 


60 


A POPtTLAR IDOL. 


seeing many of those who came to proffer their sym- 
pathy. AIL this he did almost mechanically, for he 
had grown used to hearing responsibility at such times 
as this. 

Chancing to glance at his watch, he saw that it 
lacked but a few minutes of four o’clock. He must 
go to the college. He was not needed here just now, 
and, besides, it would be a relief to be doing some- 
thing. 

He went to his study, and telephoned to the college 
that he would necessarily be a few minutes late. A 
number of persons were waiting for him in the recep- 
tion-room, but he excused himself to them all. He 
remembered that he had had no luncheon, but it did 
not matter. There was no time for it now, and he 
had no appetite. 

His lecture was to have been one of the events 
of the season among the college students. David had 
thought over it more or less for months, but, as he 
boarded a street car, he had a curious feeling that 
he could not, at that moment, have recollected a sin- 
gle word of it all. Fortunately, he had his manuscript 
with him, and he would rely upon that altogether. 

He was popular with the college boys, and they 
greeted him with an ovation. Their cheerful ^^yells” 
and their rounds of applause grated upon his over- 
strained nerves almost unbearably. How could people 


A DAY AND A NIGHT. 


61 


shout and clap and stamp when death was abroad 
and hearts were in sorrow? 

At first his speaking was labored, and that curious 
feeling of inability to recollect was with him constantly. 
But at length he took fire; he was himself, and the 
popular idol. 

For an hour, he swayed the audience as he would, 
lie pleaded for the new education, for a recognition 
of the literature and research and applied science 
of our own day, for the adaptation of educational 
methods and ideals and awards to the life of modern 
times. There was nothing original in this appeal, but 
it was nevertheless tremendous, for it was the appeal 
of a true orator whose oratory is thrilled through by 
an electrical personality. 

When all was over and the bright-faced students 
crowded forward to shake hands with him, the same 
sense of forgetfulness came back to him. He recalled 
Mrs. Lansing’s death with a start. It seemed to him 
that he had just heard the news for the first time. 
The Judge might need him by this time. He must 
hurry away. 

The Judge was alone with his dead, and David 
would not permit him to be disturbed. He would 
come back very early in the morning, he said. If 
the Judge needed him at any time, he would of course 
come at once. 


62 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


He went back to his study, and locked himself in. 
He must make some sort of preparation for the ban- 
quet. He looked up the program of toasts, and his 
head sank down in despair. He would be expected 
to make a humorous speech, and how could he permit 
himself to do this? He blushed at the thought His 
best friend in bitter sorrow, and he to play the moun- 
tebank ! It should not be. The company might be 
pleased or displeased, but he would at least take the 
part of respectability. 

He made a few hasty notes, and then, remembering 
that he had had no luncheon and that it was past 
his usual dinner hour, he went out and took a cup 
of colfee. He had no desire for food. The ordinary 
routine of eating and drinking and sleeping had sud- 
denly become burdensome to him. 

He dressed hurriedly and was just ready when 
Leslie Ayers came for him. 

^^Why, what ails you he asked. ^^Ycm. look as 
if you had n’t slept for a week.” 

’m not sure that I have. The past few weeks 
have been hard ones, and to-day — ” 

know. Awful about Mrs. Lansing, wasn’t it? 
Mother is quite broken up over it. Poor Louise! 
Have you seen her?” 

^^Yes. She is stunned and grief-stricken, but, on 
the whole, very brave.” 


A DAY AND A NIGHT. 




^^1 knew she would be. There never was a woman 
like her. She is never thinking about herself, you 
know. I think that makes a difference.’’ 

^Tndeed it does,” agreed David, smiling in spite 
of himself at the cautiousness of Leslie’s statement. 
^^Shall we go now?” 

^Tf you say so. But really, Mr. Cole, I ’m not 
sure that you ought to go at all. You look so ill, 
you know. I could apologize for you — sudden death 
in the family of a friend, and so forth.” 

David sighed heavily. 2^ever had the prospect of 
release from an engagement looked so alluring to him. 
But he had an almost morbid sense of honor where 
an appointment was concerned, and he shook his head. 

^^There is really no reason why I should not go,” 
he said. think I am getting nervous, and nervous- 
ness will grow if I yield to it.” 

He did not seem to yield to it. His speech at 
the banquet was a surprise even to his friends. ITot 
only were the dignitaries of the city present, but half 
a dozen distinguished men from abroad were among 
the speakers. Yet the young minister had not uttered 
a dozen sentences until all the brilliant wit and elo- 
quence which had gone before had been forgotten. 

did not know,” whispered Senator Lamberne 
to Colonel Traxley, ^That such fire burned anywhere 
in America to-day.” 


64 


A rOPUT.AK IDOL. 


David had tried to recall what was written in his 
notes, and had failed utterly. Nothing of that hour 
of forced preparation remained in his mind. He 
rallied himself by a tremendous effort. He remem- 
bered where he was and what was expected of him. 
Then he flung himself free and gave himself up to 
the inspiration of the hour. 

Those who' knew his ufsual easy, gtraceful style 
of after-dinner speaking were surprised, and listened 
for some humorous by-play which would relieve the 
tension. It did not come. Every word was serious. 
He spoke of the preacher — the interpreter of spiritual 
truth — as a dominant force in society, molding the 
life of the world, not molded by it; and as he spoke 
there came to him visions of which he had never been 
conscious before, and whose beauty moved him as it 
moved his hearers. 

The sight was an impressive one — the brilliantly 
lighted banquet hall, and the long tables, with their 
sparkling silver and lavish display of flowers, su,r- 
rounded by these gay men of the world, who listened 
in solemn, respectful silence to the young orator^s 
words. 

There was a moment of muffled, sjunpathetic 
applause as he concluded. Then Colonel Traxley 
introduced Senator Lambeme as the next and last 
speaker of the evening. 


A DAY AND A NIGHT. 


65 


But the Senator’s speech on ^^N*ewest America” 
was never made. There was the sound of a heavy fall, 
a muttered ejaculation from Leslie Ayers, and the 
hurried tread of those who hastened for physicians. 

Under the circumstances, the Senator declined to 
speak. The Reverend Dr. Cole, whose marvelous 
eloquence had delighted them but a moment ago, had 
fainted — merely fainted. He would imdoubtedly 
recover fully within a few moments, but in the mean- 
time, the Senator said, he thought it would be courtesy 
to bring the more formal exercises to a close. As 
he was to have been the last speaker, he moved an 
adjournment. 

But David did not recover in a few minutes. The 
doctor was properly non-committal before the crowd, 
but when alone with Leslie Ayers he shook his head 
doubtfully. 

^^There are some symptoms of trouble with the 
brain,” he said. ^^There may be a blood-clot. I hope 
not, but there may be.” 


CHAPTER VIL 


AN AWAKENING. 

David opened his eyes one day and found Leslie 
Ayers sitting beside him. It was not the first time 
that he had rallied thus far, but it was the first time 
that the past had come back to him with any meaning 
or connection. Hitherto he had had the sensation of 
a nightmare — of pain, peril, fear, without the ability 
to cry out. To-day he was conscious of being conscious. 

He lay perfectly still for a long time. Indeed, 
he could not have moved if he had tried, but this 
he did not know. His eyes were vacant at first, but 
by degrees they fixed themselves upon the crayon por- 
trait of his mother, which hung at the foot of his 
bed. 

He wondered how it came there. It used to hang 
in the place of honor, above the mantel of his sitfing- 
room. He could not give up the problem, and after 
long, wearisome thinking he remembeired that he had 
himself brought it here, because he was ashamed of 
the amateur workmanship. Yes; and he had hung 
an engraving of ^The Gleaners’’ above the mantel. 
How could he have been ashamed of his motber’si 

picture ? 

66 


AN AWAKENING. 


67 


He would kiss his hand to it now, as he used to 
long ago. He tried to raise his arm, but it refused 
to do his bidding. He had been more seriously ill 
than he supposed. 

So used was he to the phantoms of his dreams 
that he was not especially surprised that the face in 
the portrait seemed to discern his wishes, and to come 
close and press its lips to his. 

^^Mother he said, quite distinctly. 

^^Davy ! My dear, dear Davy ! My precious boy 
He could feel her tears against his cheek. 

^^You belong over the mantel, you know,’’ he 
explained. brought you here because I thought 
you were not artistic. But you are. You are beau- 
tiful — you are indeed !” 

She cried softly, and laughed as she cried. She 
&!moothed his hair and patted his cheek, and then 
looked triumphantly at Leslie Ayers, who seemed just 
ready to laugh and cry in his turm. 

There was a long interval of silence. Then David’s 
gaze wandered to a jardiniere filled with pale pink 
rosee, which sstood on a little table just below the 
portrait. 

Pale pink roses! They were the same delicate 
color asi his mother’s cheeks. Louise Landing had 
given him one like them, on that evening long ago — 
he did not know how long — 


68 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


^^Who sent them he asked, smiling upon Leslie 
Ayers. 

^^Mrs. Venett. She has sent flowers twice a week 
ever since you were taken ill.^’ 

^^Oh ! It is very, very kind of her. You will 
tell her so, will you not?’^ 

There was another silence. Then — 

^^Will you please carry the flowers into the other 
room, Leslie? The odor makes me a little faint, I 
think.^^ 

He did not speak again that day, nor the next. 
But two days later he said, opening his eyes suddenly : 

^^How long have you been here, mother?’^ 

The original of the portrait turned away her head 
in evident embarrassment. ^Ht has been quite a little 
while,’^ she said, unsteadily. 

^^How long? Hours or days?’^ 

^^Some days, now, Davy, dear.’’ 

‘^Days. 'Not weeks ?” 

She pretended not to hear him. 

^^Eaise the curtain, mother.” 

She raised it a few inches. 

^Hligher, please.” 

There was no help for it. She drew the curtain 
up to the middle of the window. 

^^Are not the buds starting on the trees?” 


AN AWAKENING. 


69 


‘^^Yes — that murmured the little woman, in 

piteous perturbation, ^^now you speah of it, I think 
they are.^’ 

January. I seem to remember January, and 
nothing beyond. Have 1 been ill since then?’’ 

^^Yes, Davy.” She was much more ready now to 
cry than to laugh. ^^But you must n’t worry yourself 
a single bit about it. You are getting well beautifully 
now, dear. You must just be quiet and rest.” 

He seemed quite willing to obey her. Indeed, the 
continuous mental effort he had made evidently 
exhausted him. But by degrees he grew used to the 
thought orf his long illness. The restless stage of 
convalescence had not been reached, and he was patient, 
or at least passive, quite content, it seemed, to lie 
in helplessness more complete than that of the little 
child. 

His mind was not unlike that of a child, though 
there were occasional flashes of memory and occasional 
efforts at connected thought. 

There was scarcely an hour but some one sent 
flowers for the invalid, and the nurse always brought 
them to him for a moment’s enjoyment, although he 
never wished to have even one blossom remain in the 
room. One day Leslie Ayers came in with a little 
bunch of woods’ violets, still wet with the morning 
dew. 


70 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


^^Louise Lansing sent them/^ he said. ^^She gath- 
ered them herself.’^ 

^^That was very kind of her/^ David said. These 
words were the formula he always used. His courtesy 
had been the first thing to come back to hini^ poor 
fellow ! ^^You do nT mind my having them, do you, 
Leslie V’ 

^^Mind your having them! Why, Mr. Cole, just 
as if I would n’t give everything I ’ve got, and all I 
ever expect to get, if I could be of any service to you 1” 

^^That is very kind of you. I — I love you, Leslie.” 

Leslie did not answer. He was quite beyond 
speech. To be loved by David Cole was enough to fill 
his cup of blessedness. 

David did not ask to keep the violets in his room, 
but he remembered them, and two days afterward he 
asked the nurse if they were still fresh and bright. 
She had just put them into fresh water, she said. 
And he said it was very kind of her. 

He remembered the church, his friends in it, and 
all their kindness to him, but his sense of responsi- 
bility for its work did not come back to him. In 
this respect his pastorate at Sweet Briar seemed 
nearer and more real than the crowded year and a half 
which he had spent with thei churoh on Eochestefr 
Avenue. In the early part of his illness he had often 
imagined himself addressing large audiences, but now. 


AN AWAKENING. 


71 


as his mental powers began to come back to him, the 
sea of faces was lost in the mist of dreams. 

’m glad he does n’t worry about his work,” his 
mother told the nurse. was afraid that, just as 
soon as he got better, he would be begging to get to 
preaching again.” 

The nurse did not answer, and as she turned away 
her head the mother saw with wonder that there were 
tears in her eyes. 

This nurse was a sturdy Scotch woman, strong of 
arm and tender of heart, who had been with David 
from the beginning of his illness, and who had learned 
to love him as if he had been her son. It was so 
easy to love David, even in his helplessness! 

He took his food and drink from her hand with 
gentle gratitude, and never forgot to make the asser- 
tion that it was very kind of her to give them to 
him. 

^^There ’s nae ither so much a gentleman in his 
strength as yonder lad is in his weakness,” she told 
the doctor, who only nodded, and looked out of the 
window with a serious expression which struck terror 
to the good woman’s heart. 

David’s piother did not share in the anxiety of 
the nurse and the doctor. David was himself again, 
and she was free to exult in his love and in the privi- 
lege of being with him from day to day. For the 


72 


A FOPULAK IDOL. 


first time she began to see him not merely as her 
own dear boy, but as the cultured pastor of a popular 
church, the man of social influence and power, whose 
friendship was courted on every side. 

The sight of the dozens of cards left for him every 
day gladdened her eyes as if they had been so many 
badges of honor. Two or three times each week there 
was a statement in the city papers concerning ^^Dr. 
Cole’s’^ condition, and, as the physician was wise and 
cautious, these were so worded that they encouraged 
rather than alarmed her. She read them over and 
over with secret delight. If David had been a member 
of the Cabinet, he could not, it seemed to her, have 
received more distinguished consideration. 

Much as David was interested in his friends, he 
expressed no .desire to see any one save those who had 
been at his bedside from the first. 

Leslie Ayers had abandoned business and society, 
and had kept his post since that first night, when he 
had brought him home from the banquet. In those 
early weeks, when no one dared to hope, the grief of 
David’s friend was piteous. 

^Tt would be so much better for me to die,” he said. 

believe I could die, if I knew it would save him. 
It would be so much better if it wore I !” 

dare say the gude Lord knows which it ought 
to be,” the nurse said, in gentle rebuke. 


AlSr AWAKEiS^ING. 


73 


^^But he is so cleiver/’ argued Leslie. ^^You can 
have no idea how clever he is. He can do everything, 
and I ean’t do anything — that is, not anything to 
speak of.’’ 

The nurse looked at him with a new admiration. 

’m thinkin’ you ’re a gude one at lovin’,” she said. 
^^That ’s something, my lad.” 

But none of David’s other friends had been 
admitted, and when the doctor was told that he never 
asked to see them, he looked thoughtful. ^^Let Judge 
Lansing come in to-day,” he said. 

So, that afternoon, the Judge came in. He had 
changed greatly in the months since his bereavement. 
His iron-gray hair was bleached white, and there were 
deep lines on his fine face. When he saw the young 
minister, wasted, ghastly-looking and helpless, and 
remembered when and how he had seen him last, the 
calmness of manner upon which the doctor had relied 
deserted him altogether, and he trembled like a 
paralytic. 

David looked at him in a puzzled way for a 
moment, then his face cleared up and he smiled 
gravely. 

keep forgetting how long I have lain here,” he 
said. remember, now. I am very sorry for you. 
Judge. I could not talk to you that morning, but I 
want to tell you now that T am very sorry.” 


74 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


know you are.’^ The Judge quite failed in his 
attempt to speak without feeling. not think 

about it now. I am glad to find that you are 
better.’^ 

^^Thank you. You are very thoughtful. And — 
you will tell her I thank her for the violets, will you 
notr 

The Judge had not heard of the violets, but he 
at once guessed that David was speaking of Louise, 
and answered, quickly, ^^Certainly I will. She will 
be pleased to get a message from you. And you — 
why — you will soon be preaching for us again, will 
you not?’^ 

^^Shall I questioned David, wonderingly. Then, 
as he saw his friend was leaving, he added, am 
sorry I can not shake hands with you, Judge^ But 
you will come again. And — remember me to all the 
people.’^ 

The nurse was encouraged by the result of this 
visit, and told the doctor so. 

^^Yes,’^ he admitted, ^^it is encouraging, as far as 
it goes.’’ 

The nurse sighed. ^^Doctolr,’^ she said, ^Svould 
you mind telling me what it is you fear most for — 
his brain or his body?” 

The doctor turned and faced her, as if it required 
an effort for him to speak. ^^His body,” he said. 


AN AWAKENING. 


75 


He looked away with the serious expression she 
always dreaded, but presently he spoke again. ^^The 
collapse was complete/^ he said. ^^Every tissue was 
exhausted. How, the mind is clearing up, in many 
respects, but so far as the body is concerned there is 
absolutely no response to treatment. He is where 
he was three months ago. It may be a matter of 
weeks, it may be a matteir of many months, but, so 
far as I can see, there is no hope.*’ 


CHAPTER Vin. 


FACUSTG THE END. 

There were months of weary watching, in which 
there seemed to be no change in the condition of the 
invalid. David seemed to be quite resigned to this 
condition — if, indeed, such gentle apathy as his could 
be called resignation — and to make no plans which 
involved an hour beyond the present. Day after day 
he turned welcoming eyes to the sunrise, without ask- 
ing why he must lie in helplessness for another twenty- 
four hours. But this was not because of his patience; 
it was only because his helplessness was so complete. 

Then, almost imperceptibly, a change came. He 
suffered no less — indeed, he seemed to be rather more 
conscious of suffering — but his strength seemed to be 
returning. He began to move his wasted limbs, aim- 
lessly at first, as an infant thrusts out its arms at 
random, but with more and more evidence of purpose 
and direction. 

^^He is surely better,’’ the nurse told the doctor. 
^^Why, think of the puir, helpless body he ’s been a’ 
these months, an’ then look at him!” 

^^He will rally,” said the doctor. ^‘1 have thought 

it might be, though I have not felt sure of it. Hature 

70 


FACIKO THE END. 


77 

is making a tremendous effort, and if there were any- 
thing to build upon, she would succeed. But the 
foundations are gone. He will come up only to go 
down again, perhaps as slowly as he has rallied, per- 
haps in a quick collapse as he went down before.’^ 

^^An^ so many people lovin’ him!” the nurse mur- 
mured with a sigh that told she was one of the many. 

By midsummer he was able to sit in a wheel-chair, 
and to endure the ride to his boyhood home. He did 
not speak of coming back again, though for the first 
time he showed an eagerness to see his friends. It 
was impossible to tell whether this indicated a new 
interest in life, or whether he wished to carry with 
him a last memory of those who loved him. 

^^You must get well quickly,” Mrs. Venett told him, 
with terrible earnestness, as she sat beside the wheel- 
chair at the close of a July afternoon. 

He looked at her wonderingly, as if she spoke a 
language which he did not understand. She was very 
beautiful, and she had been very kind to him, but her 
intensity took away his little strength. ^Alust” ? He 
could not think what ^^must” had to do with getting 
well. 

^^The world is clamorous for you,” she told him. 
^^The church endures good little Mr. Hills, and talks 
of nothing but your return. The congregations have 
dwindled to nothing. It is my opportunity, of course. 


^8 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


for the singing is of some account, nowadays. The 
preacher used to get all the glory.^’ 

lie smiled faintly. should like to hear you 
sing ^Angels Ever Bright and Fair’ again.” 

^Tt will not be long now. It surely will not be 
long.” She spoke almost fiercely. 

He did not answer. The silence made her miser- 
able. ^^Dear old Karl is lost without you,” she said. 
^^He says that Mr. Hills is Too leetle in the head.’ ” 
^^Karl has been very good to me. He begs to be 
allowed to come and carry me about, because his arms 
are so big and strong. Everybody has been kind. 
Mrs. Van Dole has sent three pairs of slippers.” He 
laughed softly. ^^That is a very good supply for a fel- 
low who can not walk.” 

^^And you are going away to-morrow. When will 
you come back?” There was something pathetic in 
the tenacity with which she held to the question of 
his coming back. 

do not know.” Again the baffling silence came 
between them. 

hope you will be very happy,” he said presently. 
The words hurt her, but she hid the hurt. shall 
be as happy as I have been in the past,” she said. 
have not always been a happy woman.” 

It was the first hint that she had ever given that 
her married life had been a disappointment, though 


FACING THE END. 


79 


David had guessed it. He shrank from ner confidence. 
The past was past. The man who had been her hus- 
band David had not known. lie did not wish to know 
their secrets. So he only said: 

^^You have a gift for giving, and that ought to 
mean happiness, ought it not? I shall often think of 
you, and shall fancy I hear your voice again — the 
voice that has given me so much pleasure.’’ 

^^But you will come back soon ?” 

Perhaps he was tired of thinking of this matter 
of coming back, but it was not weariness of which his 
voice told. He answered exactly as if she had not 
asked before. 

do not know.” 

There was nothing for her to do now but to go 
away. She felt, indeed, that they had already parted. 
Is^ot a word of his had seemed to be spoken from the 
old life. She went to her home with a strange feeling 
of frigidity — as if the blood within her veins had 
suddenly turned cold. 

^^He is going to die,” she said to herself. ^^He was 
BO strong and young and gifted, and he is going to 
die. Ah! but death never seemed so horrible to me 
before 1” 

He went away upon the morrow, his faithful nurse 
still in attendance. The country air seemed to give 
him strength. He was able to walk about a little, and 


80 


A POnjLAK IDOP. 


by degrees he showed more interest in the objeets about 
him. 

As the summer passed, there were more signs of 
restlessness than he had shown before. Still, he seldom 
spoke about the future. Once — only once — he looked 
curiously at his mother, and said to her: 
wonder if I shall ever preach again.’^ 

^^Why, of course you will, Davy dear she assured 
him, though his words had startled her more than she 
would have been willing to own. 

should like to — at least once.’’ 

His mother knew that he was trying her, but she 
felt so sure that she said, quite confidently, ^AVhy, 
Davy, how you talk ! You ’ve got fifty years of 
preaching ahead of you. Your grandfather lived to 
be eighty-seven, and preached the Sunday before he 
died. And you were always so healthy, you know. 
I ’m sure you ’ll live as long as he did.” 

David had relapsed into one of his strange silences. 
But her words seemed to have given a new turn 
to his thoughts, for next day he spoke of returning to 
the city. want to see the doctor again,” he said. 

He reflected a moment, and added. ^^And all the 
people.” 

It was so unusual for him to express a desire of 
any sort that no one thought of disregarding this one; 
and at the end of September they were in the citry 


FACING THE END. 


81 


again. He said little of the change in his condition 
until he found himself at the door of his own room. 
Then he called attention, with a little smile of pride, 
to the fact that he was able to walk in. was caiTied 
out, you know,^’ he added. 

The improvement continued for a week longer; 
then there was a sudden collapse, and he was back 
in bed again. 

A new resolution seemed to have come to him. 
He watched the doctor closely, for the first time; and 
one day, when they were alone together, he said: 

^Hector, I want you to tell me the truth. Shall 
I ever be well again 

think you will be decidedly better soon.’^ 

^^Excuse me, doctor — I said Veil.’ ” 

The doctor hesitated for a moment. In that mo^ 
ment of hesitation David read the truth. 

^^You mean that I shall not be. Shall I live ou 
as a hopeless invalid, or shall I die soon?” 

He read the answer before the doctor could speak. 
His acuteness seemed to have returned to him sud- 
denly. ‘^ou mean that I shall not live. Ah, I can 
bear it, but I am very young for that!” And he 
buried his face in the pillow. 

It is one thing to have thought for one’s self upon 
the possibility of early death, and another thing alto- 
gether when one’s physicians call upon him to face 


82 


A rOPULAIl IDOL. 


the certainty. David had believed himself fully pre- 
pared for that which, as he now realized, he had not 
been prepared at all. 

One feeling arose above all other feelings in his 
heart — the grief of leaving the world in which Louise 
Lansing lived. Until now, he had never known that 
he loved her. ISTow ha knew that his love dominated 
him as he had never dreamed that love could dominate 
a human life. 

And he must leave her, and never tell that he loved 
her. 

Might he tell her? That would have some com- 
pensation in it. If she could know, if she could feel 
how gladly he would have given his life to serving her, 
had life indeed been his to give — 

But why should she know? He had no reason to 
believe that she cared for him. She did not know him 
as well as he knew her. Besides, something told him 
that he was not the type of man to win Louise Lan- 
sing’s love. That must be a strong, well-poised nature 
which could appeal to hers and claim its fullness. And 
he was not strong. 

If she did not love him, if she could not stand 
by him at the end and be his comfoider, then it were 
better, for every reaison, that she should not know. 
Her father was his friend, and Leslie still dreamed 
of making her his wife. It would be cruel to hurt 


FACING THE END. 


83 


these two who loved him. And Loui&e would be his 
friend to the last, where rash speech would make friend- 
ship impossible. 

He told no one, not even his mother, of the doctor’s 
verdict. In a few days he was better and began to 
make preparations for a trip to California. He would 
take the doctor’s advice, and lengthen out life as long 
as possible. Perhaps this journey would be the best 
preparation for the longer one he was soon to take. 
At all events, since the parting must be, he longed 
to have it over. 

His mother was to go with him, and Leslie Ayers, 
when he learned their plans, quietly arranged his 
business and prepared to be his companion. 

^What matter are a few thousand dollars, and a 
little time, when he needs me ?” was all the explanation 
he had to give. Gradually all other interests had died 
out of his life save his longing to be of use to the man 
he loved. 

David went alone to say good-by to Louise. He 
had seldom been alone with her' — he could count all 
the times. He was surprised, as he thought upon the 
past, to remember how little of really unrestrained 
conversation there had ever been between them. At 
the first, he had not understood her, and later on he 
had feltjie had no right to understand. So to her he 
must seem hardly more than a stranger. 


84 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


It w'as plain tliat she did not guess what the doc- 
tor’s verdict had been. She was frankly glad to see 
him, and spoke of his progress toward recovery as of 
something recognized by all. 

^^You were so very ill,” she said; and David thought 
her chin quivered just a little at the recollection. 
Perhaps it was only because she connected his illness 
with the sorrow in her own homa 

But her face brightened immediately. am glad 
you are going away. If you were here, you would be 
tempted back to your work too soon. And you know 
what the church ^people say — that they will wait ten 
years, if need be, before calling another pastor.” 

^^Tliey will not need to wait ten years,” said David, 
quietly. Oh, how he longed to tell her all — his love, 
his sorrow, and his dread of going out into a future 
where she was not! 

^^You will not seem far away,” she went on, the 
infrequent smile he loved to see breaking over her f aoe. 
^^The world is small, when people know each other, is 
it not? I have even felt sometimes that perhaps the 
other world is nearer than our crude thinking puts it. 
Our friends go away, and we talk about dosing’ them, 
but we can never lose those who have loved us, except 
by being disloyal to their faith in us.” 

She had meant the words for her own comfort 
:t’ather tlian for his, but he took them to himself. He 


FACma THE END. 


85 


wished to remember her as she looked when she said 
them, and so he went quietly away. The memory of 
that slender, graceful figure in its plain black gown, 
and the beautiful face with its transfiguring smile — 
ah, how many weary watches it was to brighten, in the 
days and nights of pain which were before him! 


CHAPTEE IX. 


THE VALLEY OF SILENCE. 

David and his ^friends found a quiet hotel on the 
coast, somewhat away from the path of the pleasure- 
seeker, and here they settled down for the season. 
David, who was a born nature-lover, was charmed with 
tlie beauty of the place, and seemed for a few days 
to brighten under the influence of his new surround- 
ings. 

^^Xature is so prodigal of everything, in tliese 
parts,’^ he said, ^^that one can fancy she may even 
have a little strength to give away.” 

Leslie thought that, barring David’s presence, the 
place was decidedly uninteresting ; but it never 
occurred to him that his opinion could in any way 
affect the situation. If his hero liked it, it was the 
place where he himself preferred to be. 

But the days became weeks, and strength did not 
come. David grew homesick, and loneliness drove his 
slight courage away. Henceforth there was nothing 
to do but to wait for the end. And Louise was so far 
away ! 

Now that it was too late, he wished he had spoken 
a final farewell. He even wished that he had told 


THE VAELEY OF SILENCE. 


87 


her of his love. Surely, the love of a dying man could 
do her no harm. If it made her sad for a fe-w weeks 
or months, that could be borne, by one with a whole 
lifetime yet to live. More than once he wrote a pas- 
sionate letter in which he told her all, but each time 
a more unselfish feeling conquered, and he burned the 
letter, determined to spare her needless pain. 

He was going to die. He had told himself so, over 
and over, all these weeks. But life’s relations are so 
many that one can not face toward all of them at 
once. At first the thought of leaving Louise had 
overpowered him. He had considered nothing else, 
suffered from nothing else. But now he began to 
see from many angles what it meant to take leave of 
this life in youth, and with the dreams of youth still 
unfulfilled. 

He had had many dreams, and the world had been 
good to him. The very sweetness of his cup of life 
made the bitterness unendurable. He was not more 
ignoble than the most of men, but the habit of receiving 
had settled down upon him. It had never occurred to 
him that he could die while he wished to live. 

One night he retired early, and sent Leslie away 
to entertain a party of travelers who were sojourning 
at the hotel. Ayers had met the young ladies in Paris 
two years before, and in this remote place they seemed 
like old friends. 


88 


A POPULAR idol. 


and practice yonr social gifts/’ David had 
said. ‘^They have grown sadly rusty, during all these 
months that you have been nursing a whimsical invalid. 
Present my compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Oleavor and 
tell them that I shall give myself the pleasure of meet- 
ing them in the morning. I don’t feel quite equal 
to the exertion to-night.” 

This speech Leslie conscientiously repeated, and 
the Cleavers, a very good-natured family of globe- 
trotters of the typical sort, were at once roused to 
sympathy. 

^^And you say he can’t recover,” said vivacious 
little Maude Cleaver, tears rushing to her dark eyes. 
^Tt makes one ashamed to be alive, and so strong and 
well.” 

Usually brunettes do not look well in tears, even 
when the tears are those of sympathy, but Maude was 
a conspicuous exception to this rule. She was not 
nearly so beautiful as Louise, but as he looked at her 
Leslie told himself that she was a woman of whom 
one would never be afraid. He was often very much 
afraid of Louise. 

David fell into a heavy sleep, untroubled by even 
a flitting dream. He awakened after midnight, with 
every sense sharpened and painfully alert. He would 
sleep no more, he knew; but he was used to these 
weary watches. He was not impatient, as men ordi- 


THE VALLEY OF SILENCE. 


89 


narily reckon impatience. It was only against the 
awful fact of death itself that his heart cried out 

He wondered what death would be like, and 
whether he would be able to discern its approach. 
He we^^Jered what the last thought of his life 
would be, and what would be the first thought of 
the next. 

The next ! A trite prayer-meeting expression came 
into his mind. He was about to ^Try the re^i^ities of 
the unseen world.” Were they realities, then? He 
realized that ^^eternity” had been little more than a 
form of speech to him hitherto, and that ^^heaven” and 
^^hell” had stood in his vocabulary as antithetic 
abstractions rather than as concrete realities. 

His reason had long since settled to the belief in 
a future life. That life should go on is less wonderful 
than that it should begin. But how? where? What 
of the materials of this life would be woven into the 
next ? 

David suddenly sat upright, and covered his face 
with his hands. He was not prepared to die. He 
had cheated God and his own soul. He had spent his 
hour of life. The time had not been long, but it 
had been crowded with opportunity. And he had ' 
nothing to show for it. 

God,” he groaned, can not die! I am not 
fit to die !” 


90 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


He had not meant to be selfish, but this did not 
excuse him. God had made him a leader, and he had 
been content to b^ borne with the throng of those he 
might have led. He might have been, perhaps, a 
living voice, and he had been an echo only. 

In the weakness of his body, a black horror took 
possession of his soul. He remembered the night he 
had watched at Allie Oonweirs- death-bed. Some 
’warning of all this had come to him then. Why had 
he not heeded it? 

To die with nothing done! He remembered to 
have shed tears once over a newspaper story of a young 
soldier who died just before his regiment was called 
into its first engagement. It had seemed to him then 
inexpressibly sad to die before life’s opportunity had 
come. But what if the opportunity had come only to 
be rejected? What if the soldier had danced and 
feasted while his comrades faced the fire? 

The dawn had come, but his soul had found no rest. 
Leslie came in early, and was shocked at the change 
in his friend. The Cleavors had planned a coast trip, 
and had asked him to go with them, but at the sight 
of the hollow eyes and pinched lips he voAved that he 
would not be tempted from David’s side. 

Before the day was over, however, David had found 
out from the Cleavors about the trip, and had in- 
sisted that Leslie must accompany them. 


THE VALLEY OF SILENCE. 


91 


^^Even his outing suit is beginning to have the 
sniff of medicine about it/’ he told Mrs. Cleavor. ^^It 
is quite time he should readjust himself to the ways 
of polite society.” 

Leslie glanced at the vivacious Maude, as if be 
would say, ^Was there ever a man soi unutterably 
charming?” And Maude fell to wondering whether 
Mr. Ayers would ever love any woman as much as he 
loved this poor, handsome young minister. 

David was glad to have Leslie away. The tension 
of his life had come to be such that any touch, how- 
ever sympathetic, jarred his being almost beyond 
endurance. 'Now and then he found himself wishing 
that the end would come at once, and take him un- 
awares. He was not prepared, but what preparation 
is possible to one who has spent the gold of his youth 
so lavishly? 

The days passed, and the struggle went on. He 
had been wasted and worn-looking before; now he 
became a walking horror ! Once, as he crept out along 
the familiar path of his daily walk, he encountered 
some children who were playing in the sand. The 
younger covered his eyes and ran away, and the elder 
said, pityingly, ^^Are you the man that carries off the 
dead folks?” 

In the agony of his soul he cried out for forgive- 
ness, but his faith faltered even while he spoke the 


02 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


words. How could he ask forgiveness? He remem- 
bered how his people had loved and trusted him, and 
every memory of their kindness smote him with 
remorse. He had their hearts, and he had been un- 
worthy of the trust. He had not sinned for himself 
only; he had perhaps caused others to stumble. Was 
there one heroic act in his ministry to which he could 
look with, hope? 

He came at last where all must come earlier or 
later, if they ever come to really know why Christ 
died. In a humility more complete than that of any 
wayworn sinner he had ever welcomed to the king- 
dom, he came to fling himself down in utter helpless- 
ness, realizing that only a God of unutterable good- 
ness could save such a soul as his. 

Once he tried to pray that God would give him 
a little longer lease of life, that he might redeem the 
mistakes of the past; but again his words refused to 
form themselves into a petition. How should he dare 
to ask for such a boon, he, who had used the gift of 
life so poorly? 

He had often told others that God is always seek- 
ing for the soul that is seeking Him; but he himself 
seemed to wander in darkness. What was left for 
him? What was there, of all that had been required 
of him, that he could still render? 


THE VALLEY OF SILENCE. 


93 


At least, he could accept his lot. He had spent 
his strength, and for purposes lower than the best. 
The past was gone, but if grace for the present might 
yet be sought and found, he would take the lesson 
of his life. Perhaps, in another world, he might live 
to worthier ends. 

The age-old mystery of the cross entered into 
his soul. He who endured the desertion of His friends 
in Gethsemane would not desert the soul that, even 
through mistakes and wanderings, had crept to His 
side at last, for comfort in the garden of loneliness. 
He would cling close, and so meet death unafraid. 

A strange exhilaration took possession of him. 
This was in part a natural reaction from his long 
period of depression, and in part reawakened sensi- 
bility, poised by a stronger faith than he had ever 
known before. 

He believed he was willing to die, yet the longing 
for life now and then came to him in the midst of 
all. He chided it, but it seemed to grow stronger with 
every rebuke. Life had never before been so full 
of meaning and of possibility. Por the first time, 
he wrote to Louise. 

When Leslie came home frcmi his trip, David went 
to meet him. 

^^Where is the carriage?’^ asked his friend, in 
surprise. 


94 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


walked.’’ 

^Trom the hotel?” 

^^Yes.” 

^^Oh, Mr. Cole!” There were tears of joy in 
Leslie’s eyes ; for it w!as more than a year since David 
had made so long a journey unaided. 

Leslie had news for his friend. He was engaged 
to Maude Cleavor. Unselfish living had made them 
worthy of each other, and propinquity had done the 
rest. 

David’s delight over this romance was unbounded. 
At first he wondered if he ought not to be jealous 
for Louise, but human nature has its limitations. 
Besides, Leslie’s tremulous happiness^ gave the most 
convincing evidence possible that all had turned out 
for the best. 

^^You see, Maude is — is easier to understand than 
Louise,” was Leslie’s not very lucid explanation. 

’m not sure that I was ever really in love with 
Louise. In fact, I ’m pretty sure I was n’t, though 
I thought I could never marry any one elsa It was 
just as it used to be when I was in one of those 
great picture galleries in Europa Sometimes a pic- 
ture would take hold of me when I did n’t at all know 
what it was about, and I would take off my hat, 
and look, and look, and feel as if — as if I were in 
church, you know. That ’s the way I have always 


THE VALLEY OF SILENCE. 


95 


felt about Louise — like taking off my bat and keep- 
ing still, and not trying to understand. But it isn’t 
at all so with Maude. It just seems as if I had always 
been with her and neveT could go away.” 

^^Maude is certainly a girl in a thousand,” said 
David waiTuly — ^^unselfish, unspoiled, and charmingly 
innocent and natural. I wish” — there was a pathetic 
wistfulness in his tone — wish I could live to marry 
you to her, Leslie.” 

^^You are going to,” proclaimed Le^ie, flinging 
his arm about his friend with sudden boldness. 
may be because I am so happy that everything in 
the world looks bright to me, but somehow I feel sure 
that you are going to get well!” 


CHAPTER X. 


BACK TO LIFE. 

It was a great day witli the church on Rochester 
Avenue. The young pastoT was to preach for the 
first time since his return home and his terrible ill- 
ness, and nothing was deemed too good for such a 
notable occasion. 

^AVhat shall I sing?’’ Mrs. Venett asked, almost 
anxiously, of old Karl Xeiberger. This was unusual, 
for the soprano preferred giving instructions to 
receiving them. 

^AVhy not ^Angels Ever Bright and Fair’? Do 
you not remember the first Sunday evening, and how 
Meester Cole spoke of your singing?” 

Yes, Mrs. Venett i*eimembered, and because she did 
a wave of color overswept her face. will not sing 
that,” she said, almost petulantly, as she walked away. 

Karl looked after her with the smile of one who 
comprehends. ^Hoor child !” he said, compassionately. 
^^She is spoiled, and will play with nothing but a sharp 
knife or the moon, so she must either cut her fingers 
or cry for what she has not. She is unhappy — and 
what is there that will make her happy ? She believes 
she loves her art and lives in it, but what she loves — 


BACK TO LIFE. 


97 


is it art or power? It is only because her art is power 
to her that she lives in it. What is there for the 
poor, stormy soul? Is it the young minister, then? 
Nay, it is his powier to make people feel what he wills. 
That is what she cares for, and she cares for it as 
much and as little as she cares for her own voice^ It 
is not the good heart of the young man that she would 
prize — and it is a good heart indeed, and would make 
some woman glad that she lived. Ah! many is tlie 
time he has spoken a kind word to poor old Karl, 
when hei was heavy-hearted — when the peofple were 
so dull of soul as they listened to the music, or Madam 
Venett was not to be pleased with the accompaniment. 
^That was a glorious message the organ gave us to-day,’ 
I think I hear him saying. Ah! if my noble Louise 
could but love him !” 

David had spent weeks upon his sermon, and 
prayed and agonized over it, and had unconsciously 
put into it the history of his own soul. He had longed 
to bring the message to his people, and yet now that 
the time was here he was suprised at his weakness 
and sense of burden. It seemd to him that for the 
first time he realized what the responsSbility of a 
public ministry really is. 

The weeks since his return from California had 
been idyllic. In his country home, with his mother 
beside him to guard him against imprudence, he had 


98 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


come back to life with surprising rapidity. The ^^faith- 
healers’’ talked of miracles, and complained because he 
would not join their ranks. The joy of being flooded 
his soul. The song of birds was no more gladsome than 
the music within his heart. To live, to toil, to redeem 
the past he felt to have been so unprofitable — this was 
blessedness indeed. 

He had not trusted himself to come back to the 
city until yesterday, for he had realized that his return 
would call forth a great number of calls and invita- 
tions, and had feared that these demands would take 
his time and distract his mind from its chief work. 
So he had waited, and had come with his whole 
thought upon the service for which he felt he had 
been given back to life. 

His expectations were more iihjan! Irealized. On 
entering his sitting-room he had found a formidable 
pile of letters and invitations waiting for him, only 
a few of which he took time to read. There was a 
hasty scrawl from Leslie Ayers, who was spending a 
month with the Cleavors at a coast resort, and who 
exhausted a rather scanty vocabulary in describing the 
ever deepening charms of his beloved Maude, and 
concluded by reminding his dear Mr. Cole of a certain 
promise, made at their parting, and to be fulfilled only 
three weeks hence. There were letters from various 
benevolent and literary associations, demanding that 


BACK TO BIFE. 


99 


he deliver public addresses on various occasions. There 
was an invitation to luncheon on Monday from Mrs. 
Ayers — what a vision of rarely arranged salads and 
other culinary mysteries it called, up ! — and another to 
a formal reception in honor of his return, from Mrs. 
Van Dole. 

^^And this is only the beginning/’ he said to him- 
self, laughiiigly, as he crowded the rest of the letters 
into a pigeon-hole to await the leisure of Monday. He 
was a little disappointed that there was not at least 
a word of welcome from Louise. He had had three 
or four letters from her in as many months — frank, 
courteous, friendly letters, all of them, but scarcely 
such as he fancied a woman would write to a man 
who might some day be to her more than a friend. 
On his part, he had confined his few letters to com- 
monplaces, wtith a self-restraint which did him great 
credit. He had written last week that he would be 
back at this time, but perhaps it was unreasonable to 
expect that she would send a little note of greeting. 
He was strongly tempted to go and see her, but good 
sense dictated that he wait, and he did so. 

When he entered the pulpit, with the jubilant tones 
of the organ rising and falling as if old Karl were 
pouring forth his own gladness, a strange ecstacy came 
over David. It was worth it all — the pain, the exile, 
the weariness of waiting — to come back, and to come 
LofC. 


100 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


1U 

‘witli the coDSciousnes'S of a new life and a new power. 
He was still weiaker than he had thought^ and for^a 
moment he grew dizzy with the excitement and the 
joy. Then , his vision cleared, and he saw that the 
church was crowded. The pulpit was literally heaped 
with flowers. It was strange, but the gladness of the 
people seemed almost equal to his o^vn. 

Presently he became conscious that Mrs. Venett 
was pouring out her great, glorious voice in the words, 
^^How beautiful upon the mountains.’’ It was beau- 
tiful to be the messenger of Jehovah at such an hour 
as this. 

The assistant, ]\rr. Hills, a severely clerical-looking 
young man, with a thin voice which seemed to come 
from the region of his spectacles, read the hymns and 
the lesson. David tried to ^flead” in prayer, but he 
knew he was praying rather for himself than for 
others. He needed strength so sorely in this supremely 
sweet hour of life! 

His text was a singular one for the occasion, but 
he could have chosen no other. The words were these 
which tell the irrevocable tragedy of a human life: 
^^And he went away sorrowful ; for he had great 
possessions.” . •: 

His feeling was too deep for outward demonstra- 
tion, and as he urged upon his peopie the call to the 
surrendered life and the strenuous service, he was 


BACK TO LIFE. 


101 


quieter than had been his wont in the old days. He 
pleaded for the heroism of the apostolic age, for some^ 
thing beyond what the world of to-day recognizes as 
respectable church membership, for the splendid im- 
practicality of a Barnabas, flinging do-wn his w^ealth 
for the common need, or the glorious madness of. a 
Paul of Tarsus, scornfully turning his back on the 
possibility of worldly advancement that those God had 
made of one flesh with him might know of their kin- 
ship, hmnan and divine. 

^^Have we not glossed over our Masters words too 
long?’’ he questioned. ^^Have we not let modern con- 
ditions explain away too much ? Do we not give chief 
places to many whom our Lord would have sent away 
sorrowful? Do we not take the tremendous word 
^discipleship’ on our lips too lightly?” 

He had not thought of Louise until now, but as 
he chanced to see her face its expression arrested and 
puzzled him. Her gray eyes seemed to darken, her 
lips to grow firmer, her head to droop as if beneath 
the weight of thoughts Her father sat beside her, 
and seemed to be listening carefully. 

The other members of the congregation did not, 
•as it seemed to David, show quite their old-time in- 
terest. Perhaps they had expected to hear something 
having some special bearing upon the present occasion. 
Certainly they bad expected more of the old flash and 


102 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


glow. David smiled inwardly, in half-reiproacliful 
remembrance, to think how he had been wont to brush 
the stars. 

could n’t do it now,” he told himself, as he tried 
to rally his strength and throw more fervor into his 
utterances. was honest enough in it then, perhaps, 
but I could n’t do it now. I must be true — I must 
be!” 

He finished with more emotion than he had shown 
hitherto, but it met with no response. After the ser- 
vice all spoke of the gratificaition tliey felt in his 
return — none of the message he had brought with 
him. 

His physical exhaustion was complete, and he was 
glad that Mr. Hills was to preach in the evening. 
So painful was the reaction from the exalted state 
of two hours ago that he could not trust himself to 
answer when Judge Lansing said, ^^Louise and I are 
going to carry you off for dinner and a little rest.” 
He thought himself greatly changed, but he was very 
human still. He did not like to remember that Louise 
might think his sermon a failure. 

As he sat beside Louise at the table he remembered 
his first dinner at the Lansing home. His first? He 
was not sure that he and that shy and yet confident 
boy were one and the same. Louise did not look at 
him questioningly now. He fancied, indeed, that her 


BACK TO LIFE. 


103 


eyes met liis witJi a frank gladness he had never seen 
in them before. 

They were left alooie a little while after dinner, 
for the Judge’s habit of an afternoon nap was too 
thoroughly established to be lightly trifled with. Sad 
and disappointed as David was on account of the 
experience of the morning, nevertheless the exhilara- 
tion of her presence w^as all and more than he had 
dreamed it would be. 

am glad you are well again,” she said, with 
glowing face. ^^But I never let myself believe, for 
a single moment, that you would not get w^ell. I al- 
ways felt that you would come back.” 

^^Yet reason seemed to be altogether on the other 
side.” 

Louise laughed. am too much a woman to be 
daunted by reason. But reason was surely, at least 
in part, on the side of your youth and strength. You 
were very intemperate about work, and — ” 

^^And deserved to suffer a little ?” 

She clasped her hands upon the arm of 
her chair. ^^Xo, I do not think sO'. You meant what 
was right.” 

’m not sure that I meant anything at all. I 
simply let life sweep where it would, not because life 
was hard, but because it was easy and the things it 
took me to had always been pleasant,” 


104 


A POPUJLAK IDOL. 


He studied her face^ but it told nothing. She 
Beemed quite determined to keep to easy subjects. 

^‘T^eople will be trying to make you ill again/^ 
she said. ^They talk of dinners and receptions for 
you until one is quite ashamed of their lack of con- 
sideration.’’ 

^^Oh, I have quite recovered. The doctor himself 
admits it. He says my rallying power seemed to be 
gone, but that it was merely sleeping, and that I was 
really storing up vitality during those long months 
of idleness. In proof of the fact that I am no longer 
an invalid, I am to go to New York quite alone for 
Leslie’s wedding.” 

Louise did not seem embarrassed by the mention 
of Leslie’s name. David remembered how he had once 
fancied her apparent want of self-consciousness to be 
the perfection of art. 

^^Tell me about Miss Cleavor,” she said. she 
good enough for Leslie? That must be very good, 
you know.” 

^^No one knows it quite so well as I, I think. Leslie 
has been more than a brother to me, and I was alto- 
gether prepared to be critical concerning his choice. 
But even I could n’t ask anything better for him than 
to have a good wife who will make him entirely happy 
— and Miss Maude is going to do that, unless all signs 
faih She is a girl who has always been petted and 


BACK TO LIFE. 


lOS 

is n’t spoiled, who has always traveled and has n’t lost 
her love of home, and who has always been in rather 
gay society and still keeps her good sense and her 
good principle.” 

^^Ah, no wonder Leslie is so genelrouis with his 
adjectives ! It is good to think they will be so 
happy.” 

^^Yes, even apart from personal interest, It is good 
to have so much happiness added to the world’s sum 
total.” 

He rose suddenly. It was delicious to be so near 
Louise — to be alone with her almost for the first time 
— but he felt under a strange restraint. The thought 
of his sermon and its effect burdened him. It 
was hard for him to speak of all this, and of what 
lay behind it, and Louise was not making speech easier 
for him, as he had fancied she might. Had she felt 
so keenly for him the failure of the morning that she 
ivas compassionately seeking to divert his thoughts ? 
Suppose she thought of the outward humiliation of 
the failure, merely, and had no real comradeship with 
his purpose and motive. Could he go on living, if 
this were true? 

wished to speak of your sermon,” she said 
suddenly, as if she divined his thoughts. ^Tt is hard 
to talk — of some things.” 

He sat down again. What was he about to hear? 


106 


A POPULAR IDOL 


is all as you say/’ she said. do not live 

as we ought. We go on selfishly, and never think. 
The certain consciousness of it all has been settling 
down over me for a long while.” 

^Touise ! I wish you had told me^ I wish you 
had roused me before it was too late.” 

^Tt is not too late. Only we must be very patient. 
Remember how people have been educated, and by 
what slow degree they can come to any change from 
what they have always known. Others have not had 
such a strange experience as you have had, to make 
these things reial and near. Two years ago” — she 
smiled — ^^two years ago I should not have known what 
you were talking about, if you had preached as you 
did to-day.” 

^^Which is the same as sajdng that I do n’t preach 
just as I did two years ago. Well, it is true, and I 
think most of the people are very sori’j^ for it.” 

He said good-by directly, and soon after the Judge 
came doAvnstairs. 

^^Mr. Cole has gone?” he asked. 

^^Yes. He asked me to excuse him to you, and I 
did n’t like to press him to waik He is n’t quite strong 
yet, you know.” 

^^Yo. He is a sensitive, finely strung fellow.” 
The Judge took a few turns across the parlor. 
wonder ^f he would n’t suffer keenl^v if he should 


BACK TO LIFE. 


107 


chance to hear what the people are saying about his 
preaching.’’ 

^mat is it?” 

^^They say that Samson’s strength has departed 
from him. His sermon this morning took strong hold 
upon me, though I thought his old, happy manner was 
wanting. It would be strange if his long isolation 
had not thrown him out of the habit of contact with 
people. But most of those who heard the sermon 
thought it impractical and visionary, and lacking in 
oj*atorical finish.” 

^^Ah! I wonder” — she stopped short, and turned 
her head away from her father. wonder if, when 
John preached after his experience on Patmos, the 
Ephesians did n’t think him rather impractical and 
visionary 1” 


CHAPTEE XL 


THE TUKN" OF THE ROAD. 

shall not sing after this month. I have sent 
my resignation to the Music Committee.’’ Mrs. Vo- 
nett’s chin was determinedly set. 

^^Xot sing after this month, Mrs. Venett? Are you 
in earnest?” David looked into Octavia Venett’s face, 
and made no attempt to conceal his surprise. 

^^Oh, quite in earnest — if one is ever in earnest 
about anything. I have sung here a long while. I 
am surprised at myself, when I think how long it has 
been. One gets tired of everything at last, I suppose. 
That is what I can’t understand about heaven — 
how one can want to stay forever, and go on doing 
the same thing over and over.” 

^^Perhaps we shall not do the same thing over and 
over,” David said, smiling. ^^At least, I am sure we 
shall keep on learning to do new ones. But I had 
never once thought of your leaving us.” He did not 
say he was sorry to have her leave, though in a sense 
this was quite trua Her voice had a singular power 
over him, and he knew that others were similarly at- 
tracted by it. Yet his conscience would not quite per- 
mit him to say he was sorry. 


THE TURK OF THE ROAD. 


109 


^^1 am going to 'New York. I am smothering here^. 
There is no inspiration, and I am growing prosy and 
humdrum.’’ 

^^Mrs. Venett proisy and humdrum! That would 
indeed be a spectacle.” David was laughing now. 

^^Oh, it is quite true. I must be where I can hear 
great music, and let the floods into my soul.” 

^Ts great music necessary for that?” 

^^To me, yeS'. I’m a nineteenth-century pagan.” 
She, too, laughed, but not quite pleasantly. wor^ 
ship my own gods, you know. I have never been very 
happy, but such happiness as I have had my music 
has brought me.” 

wish you were happy, with such happiness as 
is possible to a rich nature like yours.” David spoke 
with tremulous earnestness. 

never shall be.” Her tone was one of mingled 
irritation and sadness. ^^But Karl is waiting for me.” 
And she went to the organ without another word. 

When the rehearsal was over, David was gone; 
but Karl, who had heard what Mrs. Venett said about 
going away, detained her. ^^Is it true that we must 
lose you?” he said, with almost fatherly tenderness. 
The old man was her truest friend, though she loved 
to torture him with her caprices and exactions. 

^^Why should I stay? One might as well be at a 
mission chapel, singing gospel songs to the aecompani- 


110 


A POPULAE IDOL. 


ment of a squeaking cottage organ. The people one 
cares for — the people who can unclerstand you and 
me — hardly ever come here now. Mr. Cole is changed, 
too.’’ 

Karl nodded. ^^Should he not be changed?” he 
asked, gently. ^^He has been fery ill and he is not 
so strong and full of te poy’s young plood as he used 
to be. But his heart is on high, and to goot and noble 
tings he sees, shall he not speak dem ? Shall I play 
a jig on te grand instrument, like te what you call 
hnerry-go-round’ in te park, because people like te jig 
and haf no soul for te masters ? And Meester 
Cole, must he not speak te goot, te pe-yutif ul soul-life ? 
Must he care for te people who will not like te music ?” 

^^You seem to think him changed for the better. 
For my part, I don’t. He really bores me. I am 
tired of everything. I am going away — ^to study, to 
listen, to do anything that will make life live.” 

am fery sorry. Madam Yenett” — the old man 
held out both hands, and tears filled his kindly eyes. 

am growing old, with none of my own plood to 
lofe me, and I am fery sorry to haf you go away.” 

Mrs. Yenett impulsively clasped the outstretched 
hands. don’t see how you can be,” she cried, in 
sudden remorse. have n’t been as good to you as 
I should have been, and I do n’t deserve to have you 
sorry when I go away.” 


THE TURN OF THE ROAD. Ill 

David, sitting just inside the door of the study, 
had heard every word of this conversation. There had 
seemed to be nothing private about it, indeed, for the 
other members of the choir had also heard. The 
conversation told him nothing new. He had returned 
from Leslie^s wedding and the long thinking-spell he 
had taken during the trip, with new determination to 
do his very best for the Rochester Avenue Church. He 
realized now that he had stated his convictions angu- 
larly, and had, as Louise, had intimated, made too 
little allowance for training and conditions. The peo~ 
pie had not understood him. He had not antagonized 
them, it was true, but he had wearied them. Never 
mind; he would take time, be would be patient, and 
by and by they would understand. 

wish you would talk to Mrs. Van Dole,’’ Mr. 
Hills had told him, on his return. ^^She is thinking of 
joining St. Stephen’s. The new minister there is 
creating quite a furore. He has just finished a series 
of Sunday evening lectures on ^The Victorian Poets,’ 
and I understand that the ushers were obliged to carry 
in chairs. Mrs. Van Dole is fond of novelty, you 
know.” 

^^Yes, I know,” agreed David, a little wearily. 

He did indeed ^^talk” to Mrs. Van Dole, but the 
result was not satisfactory. 


112 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


I have no idea of taking my membership from 
dear old Eochester Avenue/’ she said. shall never 
do that, though I feel that I have long since outgrown 
its doctrines. One must believe in the inner light, 
and all that, must one not? I find beautiful things 
everywhere, and I feel I ought to follow the l%ht 
wherever I see it. For years I have realized the 
narrowness of what we call church membership, but 
I have a sweet home feeling for Eochester Avenue 
Church, and I fully expect to die in its fellowship. 
Just now” — she became slightly embarrassed — ^hhe 
intellectual stimulus I receive at St. Stephen’s is ve.ry 
elevating. The two lectures on Browning were really 
Carlylean in their rugged delineation — and you know 
I adore Browning.” 

^^Yes.” David was quite aw^are that the real pur- 
pose of this rltfetoric was to conceal the fact that Mrs. 
Van Dole no longer cared to hear him preach. He 
should not have been small enough to care, but 
few of us are quite large enough for noble inden 
pendenoa 

^^You gave us an idyllic study of Browning, at 
our club,” Mrs. Van Dole resumed, charmed with her- 
self for having bethought her of such an agreeable 
topic. ^Ht was the very day you fell so dreadfully 
ill, was it not ? By the way” — Mrs. V an Dole would 
no doubt have showm a lovely blush, if it had not been 


THE TUKIS’ OP THE ROAD. 


113 


for the intervention of coismetics — ^^had you heard the 
latest news from our club?’’ 

heard Mrs. Venett had resigned the presidency.” 

^^And they have^ — only think of it!— elected me! 
It is a dreadful responsibility, and| I fed entirely 
unequal to it. Mr. Van Dole says I am far too self- 
distrustful. It is the only subject on which Mr. Van 
Dole doesn’t think exactly as I do.” 

^^I could have guessed as much,” said David, with 
an air of grave politeness^. It was the only time he 
had ever yielded to his sens© of humor, in dealing with 
Mrs. Van Dole. For this he certainly deserved great 
credit, considering how frequent had been his temp- 
tation. 

So the Van Doles were attending St. Stephen’s, 
and those who basked in the light of their social great- 
ness were naturally attracted in the same direction. 
The audiences at Eochester Avenue were smaller than 
those of two years ago, and many of those who had 
drifted away were among those who had been David’s 
wannest admirers. 

As he sat in the study to-day, and thought over 
the situation, he was conscious of a weakness which 
surprised him. As is the case with most persons of 
warm and open nature, his faults and his virtues lay 
very close together. He loved, and he loved to be 
loved. It would have been easy for him to be a hero 


114 


A POPTJLAE IDOL. 


at the head of an applauding army, but he had none 
of the noble stubbornness which nerves one to stand- 
alone against an opposing host. He was* neither a 
weakling nor a timeserver, but the breath of sympathy 
had been his stimulus always. Perhaps it was not so 
strange as he thought that he cared for it yet. 

He thought, with a new, reverent appreciation, of 
the loneliness of the Hazarene. From what a yearning 
heart, a heart yearning for the simple boon of souls 
willing to receive his help, had been poured the ,cry, 
^^Will ye also go away?’’ 

And at length this thought stilled his selfishness. 
The Son of God, after receiving the idolatry of a fickle 
people for a day, had left but a. little handful of 
followers behind him, and those few still cruelly in- 
different to the nobler issues of his life and death. 
Was the disciple, then, above his Master, or the ser- 
vant above his Lord? 

What was David Cole, that he should have giwvn 
used to life’s ease and sweetness ? He had of late been 
preaching a more heroic and unselfish type of Chris- 
tianjity. In whati had his example accentuated his 
teaching? He had dreamed of coming back to life 
with a new message, but the life of which he dreamed 
had been, after all, the old life of enjoyment and 
appreciation and victories too easily won to deserve 
the name, He had meant to lead his people to nobler 


THE TURN OF THE ROAD. 


115 


things, but he had thought of them as following joy- 
ously, and never quite forgetting who it was that led 
them. 

That same day he went to Judge Lansing. have 
decided to place my resignation in the hands of the 
Official Board,’’ he said. 

^-^Mr. Cole!” The noble face opposite worked 
strangely. 

^^You are not altogether surprised, I see. It is the 
only way.” 

^^You are sure you are not hasty?” The Judge 
asked the question almost mechanically, as if he wished 
to gain time. 

am sure I am not hasty. I have thought of the 
subject in all of its bearings.” David was surprised 
to find himself calmer than the Judge. 

^^Your health—” 

^^lly health is fully restored, and my strength very 
nearly so. That has nothing to do with the matter. 
I have lost my hold on the people, and if the members 
of the Board had less chivalry and would speak their 
secret wish, it would be that I should go.” 

hope not. I hope you are mistaken. Certainly 
you are not correct about all.” 

^Terhaps not about all.” 

^^There is no ^perhaps!’” There was a moment 
of eloquent silence, have loved but few persons. 


116 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


and — if yon were iny son I could not love you 
more.’’ 

There were no words in which an answer could be 
given. David clasped the hand of his friend, and 
both realized that there was between them a bond which 
never could be broken, 

^Tt seems to me” — the J udge spoke firsts and more 
quietly than he had done before — ^^it seems to me that 
a readjustment is altogether possible. The spirit of 
your preaching has changed somewhat, and the people 
were not prepared — 

know ; and if I had come here in the beginning 
with the feeling I have now, there might have been a 
chance that the people would hear and follow. But 
I did n’t, and it is just that I should fail.” 

can not feel as sure as you do that they might 
not hear, even yet. For myself, I am glad to confess 
that your preaching has opened a new world to me. 
Louise feels as I do, I am sui^e, though she seldom 
speaks of such things.” David winced at the mention 
of Louise’s name. To think of her at this moment 
was exquisite pain. He must put the tliought away, 
lest his courage fail him. 

know how the church ofScers would shrink from 
asking me to go,” he said. ^^They have dealt with me 
always with such rare kindness and consideration that 
a bit of plain speech would be a hard duty for mj 


THE THEN OF THE EOAD. 


117 


one of them to undertake. So it is quite plainly my 
province to take the initiative.’^ 

^^Not yet.. Promise me, Mr. Cole, that you will 
wait, and that you will say nothing further about this 
for a month.” 

It was so small a thing for so staunch a friend to 
ask, that he could not choose but grant it. The month 
was a dreary one. Mrs. Venett went away, and some 
who had been attracted by her singing dropped out 
of the audiences. The new soprano was a thin-voiced 
young lady, with operatic habits and aspirations, who 
whispered with the tenor while the sermon was going 
on, and said ^^How lovely !” when it was over. 
Louise was out of the city, the Judge was overworked, 
and David felt the new loneliness of his life to be 
almost beyond endurance. But he must get used to 
it, for what else had he a right to expect ? He tried 
to do his best, but it was quite impossible that one of 
his temperament should be altogether at ease before 
a people who did not care to hear him. He was glad 
when the month was over. 

have waited,” he told the Judge. ^^But I have 
not changed.” 

^^You are still determined to offer your resigna- 
tion ?” 

^^Quite determined.” 


118 A POPULAR IDOL. 

am very sorry. I thought you might come to 
see things differently by this time.’’ 

^^ISTot differently — only more clearly.” 

^^Then I suppose there is nothing more to do about 
it except to thank you for having waited.” 

In spite of the calmness with which he had spoken 
these words, the Judge trembled visibly when, at the 
officers’ meeting that night, the clerk unfolded a letter 
in the pastor’s handwriting. It had been handed in 
at the latest possible moment, and no one save the 
Judge guessed its contents. 

^^Dear Brethren,” David had written, ^^it becomes 
my duty to tender to the churcli through you my resig- 
nation as pastor of the church on Kochester Avenue. 
In doing this, I desire first of all to thank you for the 
generosity and kindness with which I have been treated 
by you and by those whom you represent I came 
among you an untried youth ; you bore with my crude- 
ness and inexperience, and overlooked my mistakes. 
Sickness overtook me, and you provided for my needs 
and for the work in my long absence. My lifelong 
gratitude will be but a poor return for goodness such 
as yours. 

^^Concerning the motives 'vv'Mch have led to the 
present step, a few words will suffice. New experiences 
of life, new knowledge of hiunan need and God’s good- 
ness, of necessity bring new convictions. My sense of 


THE THEN OF THE EGAD. 


119 


the responsibility of our common ministry has greatly 
deepened since I came among you. In this generation 
of worldliness and self-seeking, Christ peculiarly needs 
a heroic people. To this church is given exceptional 
opportunities. I feel most keenly that no one is fitted 
for its pastorate who can not lead its membership day 
by day to nobler heights of worship and service. This, 
since my return to you, I have tried to do, and I feel 
that in a measure I have failed. To remain among 
you, content to perform the duties of my position and 
make no strenuous effort toward enlarged work and 
living, would be conscious disloyalty to you, and to 
Him whom I am pledged to serve. I therefore deem 
it wise that the connection be severed. I leave it to 
you to name the date at which my services shall ter- 
minate, merely asking that it shall be as early as is 
at all consistent with your judgment. I shall not 
cease to pray that my successor may be a man after 
God’s own heart, and that he may be supported by the 
united prayers and labors of a godly people.” 

There was absolute silence at the conclusion of the 
reading. The clerk folded and unfolded the letter 
nervously. 

At length Mr. Herbert Ayers arose. move the 
acceptance of Mr. Cole’s resignation,” he said. 

There was a hesitating second and Mr. Ayers -con- 
tinued: am sorry that things have come about 


120 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


as they have, but I ’m oertain it ’s fortunate that Mr, 
Cole sees the situation. I don’t like to see him go. 
He and my son are like brothers, and, so far as I am 
personally concerned, we shall find no one who will 
take his place. But the audiences are smaller than 
they used to be, and some of our best financial support 
has fallen away. As officers, we are responsible for the 
business interests of the church, and we are bound to 
see that they are attended to. Our expenses here are 
heavy, and we must look to the source of supplies. 
We all love Mr. Cole, but I think we are obliged to 
confess that somehow he has lost his drawing power. 
I think he has done the wise thing to resign.” 

O theirs echoed these sentiments, some feebly, some 
emphatically. Judge Lansing was the last to speak. 

^^Gentlemen,” he told them, ^^having heard what 
you have to say, I shall vote for the acceptance of the 
resignation. If this is the way you feel, it is quite 
certain that Mr. Cole could no longer do a work that 
would be at all satisfactory to his own conscience. For 
my part, I am convinced that he is right in the position 
he has taken since he came back to us. I believe that 
the church is something more than a business institu- 
tion. We can not afford to settle a question whose 
issues are life or death in this way. It is not right. 
It is not safe. It is not Christian. Do not think that 
I am blaming others rather than myself. Ho one 


THE TUKN OF THE EOAD. 


121 


else, I think, has been quite so blind as I. But I be- 
lieve, that, if wo had heeded the call in time, a nobler 
future than is now likely ever to come to this church 
would have been near and possible.” 

The Judge’s words made a strong impression — 
stronger, it must be confessed, than all the laborious 
preaching which David had done during these last 
•weary months. A moment later the vote was taken, 
and the resignation was unanimously acceptedf 


CHAPTER XII. 


CONCLUSION. 

David was going away. He did not know wkeire. 
Perhaps the way would open before him. At least 
he could trust for the one step at a time. 

It was harder to go than he had thought it would 
be. The birth of the intellect, the thought of achieve- 
ment as anything beyond imitation, had come to him 
here. The associations were dear to him. The cords 
^vere bound to his heart. To break them meant keen 
pain. In a sense, this pain had never been antici- 
pated. While he had often spoken of the time when 
he would finish his work here and go away, a definite 
picture of such a leave-taking as this had not been 
present with him. Until lately, he had not realized 
that the church might part from him willingly. Un- 
consciously he had thought of himself as going away 
in the midst of tears and entreaties. Eve.ry man is 
more or less inclined to play the hero to himself, and 
perhaps less popular preachers than David have fallen 
into a similar mistake. 

His uncertainty about the future gave him a feel- 
ing of homelessness. He was going away from the 
place and the people he loved, and no place was waiting 

for him. 

122 


CONCLUSION". 


123 


He was to leave the city on Thursday, and on 
Monday afternoon Leslie and Maude came home from 
their wedding trip. They had hastened their return 
from South America, wihich Maude had selected as 
the proper continent for an unconventional honeymoon. 

’s the only place where I have n’t been, except 
to Siberia, I think,” she said. ^^And the season is n’t 
right for Siberia. So Argentina seemed to be the only 
thing.” 

Leslie was sorely grieved over the prospect of his 
friend’s departure.. ^^Maude and I have planned so 
many things. I never saw such a girl for plans. I 
wish I had as good a head as hers. But she does n’t 
care to run things. Most women would, you know, 
but she does n’t She believes that a man ought to 
be the head of the house, and all that. But she ’s 
had more plans about you. Some women would be 
jealous because I think so much of you, but she is n’t 
In fact, I believe she thinks almost as much of you 
as I do. You would be surprised to see how she — 
how she looks up to you, you know. She wanted to 
fix up a room for you in our house! — a kind of loung- 
ing-place, where you could always be running in and 
out ^He could have his own key,’ she said, ^and be 
just as independent as he liked. If he wanted to keep 
his bachelor’s suite, he could, and only run over to 
us when he wanted a little rest, and a real home cor- 


124 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


nor to stay in.’ She has been picking up all sorts 
of curios for that room, and she ’s awfully disappointed 
to think you won’t be able to use ’em. She” — Les- 
lie’s lip quivered — ^^shei’s as disappointed as I am 
that you’re going away. But we’ve talked things 
over a great deal, and Maude has had a great many 
plans. She does n’t see the use of spending money 
for what is n’t any good, and I do n’t either. I told 
her I ’d buy a yacht, if she really wanted one, but she 
did n’t. She said she never wanted to go anywhere 
again, because she’s been going ever since slie was 
a baby, and has had enough of ih If she had the 
yacht, she’d feel obliged to use it. And we don’t 
want a big house, because if we have one we ’ll have to 
give receptions, and go to places, and never have any 
time to enjoy ourselves. Maude says that folks who 
have a home, and a chance to stay in it, ought to be 
contented, and not run over the world trying to run 
good times out of some brush-heap.” 

think so, too,” said David, heartily. It was 
the first time he had ever found it hard to get in a 
word, when talking with his friend. Ideas had never 
come easily to Leslie, but he would have ample em- 
ployment for the rest of his life in repeating those 
of his wife. 

^^So we want to — ^to have you go and preach where 
you think it will do most good,” Leslie went on, rather 


CONCLUSIO]^^. 


125 


more shyly. ‘^It won’t be like having you here, but 
we ’d like it, if you do n’t mind. You see, it would 
only bore us to have to use the money, and if you ’d 
just take it, and go and preach where you think the 
people need it — ” 

David suddenly perceived whither his friend’s 
speech was tending. I hope you will not think the 
less of him that tears came to his eyes. That Leslie 
loved him better than he loved money he had already 
had ample proof; but this nobler fellowship of service 
came as a gracious surprise. 

^^Dear fellow !” he said, brokenly. could n’t take 
it, you know, but — ” 

^^Why could n’t you take it, I ’d like to know ? 
I told Maude it would be just like you to say that, and 
she said it would be perfectly ridiculous of you. It 
is what you have been preaching, you know — that 
people ought n’t to care so much about money, and 
that we ought to do something for the people who 
have n’t any chance, and all that. Why should you 
object when somebody tries to follow after your 
sermons ?” 

Why should he, indeed ? Had he any right to 
check the noble impulse of his friend’s heart? What 
did Christianity mean, after all, if it did not mean 
just such unselfish gifts as this? 


126 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


^^God bless you, Leslie he said. ‘^You ai^e a 
better man than I am. And Maude is pure gold. My 
first thought was that I would be a dependent upon 
your bounty; but you have seen more clearly than I 
have, and I am not sure I have any right to deny you 
the privilege of such splendid liberality. Certainly, 
there is nothing in the world that I would like so 
Avell as perfect freedom to work where the need seems 
greatest. I will think about the matter, and — I be- 
lieve I am likely to say, A^es V ’’ 

Leslie went away happy, and Maude read victory 
upon his face as he entered the door. told him it 
VvT’as your plan,” he said, ^^and I think that pleased 
him. But I believe my arguments had a good deal of 
effect on him, too.” 

And Maude kissed him, and told him she had felt 
sure that he would put the case well. 

Meanwhile, with a sudden access of joy and hope- 
fulness, David had gone to Louise. She had been a 
most sympathetic friend, during these last weeks, but 
he had not seen her alone, or said anything to her of 
his prospective departure. 

Old Karl Keiberger was just leaving the house, 
and David stopped for a word with him. 

^^It makes my heart heffy that you go away,” the 
old man said. ^They vill pring here berhaps a wooden 
jumping- jack breacher, who will wish me to blay te 


CONCLUSION. 


127 


^Binafore.’ And I shall miss you, Meester Cole. For 
you haf a soul, and I haf velt it schpeak to ma It 
will po fery lonely!’’ 

am glad, Karl. You, too, have a soul, and it 
lives in the midst of harmonies. I shall try not to 
forget the good and beautiful things I have learned 
from your playing.” 

Karl shook his head dismally. ^^It is well if my 
soul liffs in te midst of harmonies,” he said, ^^for my 
ears litf in te midst of tortures. Since Madam Venett 
went away I haf endured ak — ony — yes, I will say 
ak-ony. Te soprano seengs trough her nose, and shows 
off her high notes like a comic opera seenger.” 

^^You have heard from Mrs. Venett ?” 

haf heard but once.” The old man’s voioe 
trembled. ^^She will soon forget stupid old Karl, 
though I lofed her as if I had peen her father. She 
writes that she is very gay in New York, and makes 
many new acquaintances*. That is not good for her, for 
she will be always going out after excitement, and by 
and by she will sing like a fine parlor lady. It is veiy 
lonely, Meester Cole, and if it were not for my noble 
Louise” — he stopped sho'rt., and held out his hand. 
^^I am sorry you are going away,” he repeated in a 
broken voice. 

Louise was alone. David heard her violin as he 
entered, and the minor strain sobbed through his own 


128 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


soul. The pathos of life, its affinities and its partings, 
took hold upon him. 

The music ceased suddenly, and Louise came down 
the stairs. He fancied she flushed slightly as he rose 
to meet her, but the old, frank tone gave him welcome. 

“I fancy you are glad I am going away,” he said, 
am glad that you are brave and true. I had 
hoped that you might stay — I mean that it might be 
right for you to stay, but — ” The exquisite voice 
broke a little. am glad you did right,” she added, 
simply. 

is the only way.” A great longing came over 
him, and he could not keep back the words that had 
been in his heart so long. 

^Tt will be like going do'Wn to death again to go 
away — from you — ” 

He had not meant to tell her. He had said to him- 
self that, even if there were hope that she might 
give her love to him, he could not ask her to share 
a future which held nothing but uncertainties. But 
the rapture of utterance tempted him. have loved 
you so long,” he said, ^^and it is as it was when I 
thought 1 must go out of the world and leave you in it.” 

Even now he meant to say no more. He set his 
lips together flrmly, lest he should make some claim, 
or beg for some word of answer. But, looking into 
her eyes, he realized how a woman can love, and knew 


CONCLUSIO]^^'. 


129 


that the cruelest thing he could do would be to go out 
into the world without her. 

Louise!’’ was all he said; but his sense of 
homelessness rolled away, and his heart was forever- 
more at home. 

am glad you did not tell me long ago,” she 
said. ^^Because I could have given you notbing until 
now.” 

^^You did not care for me when I went away ?” 

^^Perhaps I cared for you all the while. You 
brought a new life to me. The things I had known 
and sought after began to look poor and low. I longed” 
— the beautiful, rare smile illuminated her face — ^To 
try my wings. But I did not know I cared for you, 
and I never dreamed that you thought of me more 
than of others. It was only when you came back, 
and I felt how strong you were, that I was con- 
queired.” 

^Terhaps it was only because you pitied me then,” 
David said — not so much because he really thought so, 
as because her tender tone was music to him, and he 
wished her to go on. 

^^Yo.” The smile deepened, but the voice hesitated 
for a moment. ^^If I have ever pitied you, it was not 
then. It was when you were the popular idol, and I 
feared you might be contented to be only that. But 


now- 


180 


A POPULAR IDOL. 


^^But now I am still weak and selfish. I am not 
strong and brave and steadfast like you, Louise. But 
you love me. Everything in this world is insignificant 
when compared with that. 0 Louise, I have needed 
you so long!’’ 

They clasped each other’s hands, and the light of 
hope was in their eyes. David thought of the lone- 
liness and heartsickness of the morning, and smiled. 
Was he not, then, going forth to a hard, unceasing 
struggle, in a world which had misunderstood him and 
might understand him again ? Nay, where could he 
be going, save to the unutterable joy of an adjusted 
life? For God was above him, and they were going 
to their work together — he and Louise, 

[the end.] 
























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